


A Year of Siremione

by MaryRoyale



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks, 52 weeks of Siremione, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Siremione Anthology, Stand alone stories
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-04
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-02-28 09:34:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13268661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryRoyale/pseuds/MaryRoyale
Summary: This is a 52 Stories in 52 Weeks short story anthology. All of these stories will be some variation of Siremione, and that is their only connection. Some of the prompts are so wildly disparate from one another that it would be incredibly difficult to have them form a cohesive whole. It is a collection of ficlets and drabbles written over the course of 2018--hopefully a way to force me to write every single week and maybe be inspired to work on my pile of WIPS mouldering in the corner.





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for week 1 was: A story entitled “A New Beginning”.
> 
> This fic is cross-posted on FFN. I know, I know, it's a whole year of "firsts" for me...

When Hermione woke, the first thing she felt was irritation. She looked around with a scowl and huffed indignantly at what she saw. It was early morning and the little rippling waves of Black Lake lapped at the shore by her feet. In the distance, where Hogwarts should have been, was a thick mist that obscured the other half of the lake. She turned around and glared at the Forbidden Forest, which appeared unnaturally quiet.

It wasn’t time, yet. She supposed that everyone thought that, but she had a list, damn it! There were things that she still needed to accomplish. Sure, she was the first Muggleborn Minister of Magic. Sure, she had just witnessed the birth of her first great-great grandchild, but… she wasn’t ready.

“Hello kitten.”

“No,” Hermione snapped.

Angrily, she whirled around to glare at a ridiculously young-looking Sirius Black who was leaning against what appeared to be one of Hogwarts’ little boats. He smirked at her and looked around curiously. Finally, he nodded in satisfaction and turned back to her.

“I wondered what would appear for you,” he told her. “Made several bets on it, as it happens.”

“Which is why I came along as well,” Remus Lupin’s voice sighed from somewhere to her left. Hermione jerked in surprise and turned to stare at him in shock. He waved a hand towards Sirius and managed to look both exasperated and affectionate at the same time. “He cheats.”

“I do _not_!” Sirius crossed his arms and tossed his hair.

“He really does,” Remus muttered.

“I…” Hermione paused and stared at the both of them. They looked entirely too young and too healthy for her peace of mind. “I’m sorry, but… why are you here?”

Both wizards looked at one another with nonplussed expressions and then turned back to her. Remus’ eyes softened, and he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“You see, Hermione,” he began in a gentle, soothing voice that only served to irritate her further. “You—” he paused, and his hand fell from her shoulder. He glanced toward Sirius and then looked back at her helplessly. “You—”

“I’m dead, yes, I know,” she snapped. “That doesn’t answer my question.” She looked around with a small frown and then turned to Remus.

When Hermione had glanced at him she saw that he was too young, too healthy-looking. Now she could see what had tickled the back of her brain. Remus Lupin didn’t have any scars. He didn’t have dark circles under his eyes. His skin didn’t have the sallow, greasy look it got before the full moon or the paper-thin, too-pale pallor he sported after a full moon. She had never realized how much Remus’ lycanthropy had shaped him. She wasn’t quite sure she liked this perfectly hale and hearty Remus, not that it was any of her business.

“It’s creepy, isn’t it,” Sirius whispered loudly.

Remus rolled his eyes. “Fuck off,” he said with an air of resignation.

Hermione almost choked on her air, not that she supposed she really needed to breathe anymore. Still, she couldn’t recall a single time that Remus had ever cursed in front of any of them. He had usually shot quelling looks in Sirius’ general direction when Sirius had pulled out his bottle of Ogden’s.

“Why aren’t you… I mean… what about Harry?” Hermione asked in a desperate bid to change the subject from how _uncanny_ Remus appeared.

“Harry?” Remus echoed in surprise.

A bark of laughter drew their attention to Sirius who was wiping at his eyes and chuckling with mirth.

“Can you imagine the look on Lily’s face if we told her—” Here Sirius began laughing again, huge belly laughs that made Hermione smile in spite of herself.

A snort escaped Remus. “She’d kill us both.”

The spectres of Lily and James Potter had been just that—hovering on the edges of Harry’s life as a part of his past that he couldn’t quite remember unless fucking dementors got anywhere near him. It took a moment for it to sink in that _here_ they were all spectres; that, of course, Harry’s parents would want to be the ones that greeted him. Hermione’s heart clenched a little in her chest.

“My parents,” Hermione whispered.

Both Remus and Sirius stilled.

“Oh kitten,” Sirius breathed. He moved forward and pulled her in for a rough hug. “It’s… they were Muggles, you see.”

“What does that matter?” Hermione demanded, pushing impatiently at Sirius’ chest.

“They moved on,” Remus explained with an apologetic half-smile. “Most Muggles aren’t as… aware… of the options as we are.”

“Death is the next great adventure,” Hermione whispered to herself.

“Exactly,” Sirius agreed with a wide grin. He gestured to Remus. “And who better to help you greet death than the greatest adventurers ever known to wizardingkind?”

“So, what happens now?” Hermione looked to Remus with a worried frown.

A filthy smirk spread over his unnaturally smooth face and Remus’ eyes crinkled at the corners. He held out a hand to her in a semblance of courtly manners.

“How would you like to go on an adventure?” Remus asked in a voice that made gooseflesh break out on Hermione’s skin.

“But—” Hermione bit her lip and looked to Sirius who was already shaking his head.

“No questions,” he said with an implacable expression. “Yes or no. Would you like to go on an adventure?”

Like a pendulum, Hermione’s gaze swung between Remus’ face and Sirius’. Mischief lurked in both wizards’ faces. On the tip of her tongue were a million questions, but Sirius had said _no questions_. The one that she wanted to ask so badly that she opened and closed her mouth several times was _with you,_ but she ruthlessly bit it back.

“Hermione?” Sirius’ smirk had grown impossibly wide and he bounced on the balls of his feet. “What do you say?”

“Yes,” she whispered and took Remus’ hand. His fingers curled around hers and he tugged her forward toward the little boat. “I say yes.”

 


	2. Challenges of the Modern Werewolf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of challenges faced by our favorite werewolf

 

 

 

_Trying to convince people that they do not need to get involved with your shite._

 

“Fuck you, Sirius,” Remus snarled.

“Please,” Sirius retorted at the top of his lungs. He moved to unbutton his shirt and Remus grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t,” Remus ordered.

“Remus,” Sirius whispered. He stared at Remus with wide, stormy eyes. “Don’t do this.”

“I can’t,” Remus whispered back. His fingers tightened around Sirius’ wrist until Sirius flinched.

Filled with self-loathing and revulsion, Remus flung Sirius’s wrist away, and turned to run.

“Don’t go,” Sirius called to him.

The door slammed behind Remus.

“Come back here you furry bastard,” Sirius bellowed as he thundered down the dormitory steps after Remus.

Finally, Sirius caught up to Remus in one of the hallways.

“Remus,” Sirius called after him.

“I’m sorry,” he half-sobbed. Remus refused to look at Sirius until Sirius caught Remus’ face between his hands and forced Remus to look him in the eye.

“What the hell are you on about now?” Sirius demanded.

“I hurt you,” Remus gasped out between sobs. “This is why… this is why it will _never_ work.”

“Bollocks,” Sirius snorted. “We’ll _make_ it work.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

_Dealing with arseholes at the Ministry_

“Mr. Lupin, is it?” The officious little clerk looked up from his clipboard to sneer at Remus. “Do you have your Dark Creature Identification Card?”

The next time that Sirius got pissed out of his mind and threatened to burn the Ministry to the ground, Remus was going to hand him the kerosene. It took him a moment to remember that he didn’t give a fuck if Sirius would ever got pissed again. Remus took a shuddering breath and shoved his grief down. He pulled out his billfold and dug through it until he found the hated card. Pulling it out, he shoved it at the little clerk, who took it between the very tips of his fingers.

The humiliation and anger burned within him for the thousandth time and he bit the inside of his cheek until his tasted blood. The little clerk moved as slowly as possible and made unhappy _hmph_ noises to himself. Remus tried to ignore all of it and think of something else, which was probably not a good idea. Peter with his bashful smile, Lily with her flashing green eyes… James, Merlin, _James_. He choked down a howl of grief.

“Something to say, Mr. Lupin?” The little clerk drawled in a haughty voice that set his teeth on edge.

“No, sir,” Remus managed to grind out. “I was just thinking.”

Another disapproving _hmph_ noise and the little clerk went back to his painfully slow paperwork. An hour and a half later and Remus _finally_ had his voucher for Wolfsbane potion. He fucking hated the fucking Ministry.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Deciding whether or not it’s a good idea to get back with your ex-convict ex-boyfriend_

“Professor Lupin?”

Being called _Professor Lupin_ was something Remus thought he was never going to get used to hearing. Of course, thanks to Lucius Sodding Malfoy, Remus would never get the chance. With a sigh, he turned toward the clever little witch that had managed to save Sirius.

“Miss Granger,” he said with a small nod. “It appears as though I owe you a debt.”

Miss Granger blinked at him in surprise. “A debt?” She echoed him doubtfully.

“You saved Sirius,” he reminded her. A dull flush stained the girl’s cheeks.

“It was the right thing to do,” she muttered and scuffed the toe of her shoe against the stone floor of the Defense classroom. “He… he’s Harry’s godfather,” she added after a moment.

“And you would do anything for Harry,” Remus murmured.

The flush on Miss Granger’s cheeks grew darker and she sputtered helplessly for a moment.

“It’s not like that,” she managed at last. “He’s…”

“He’s your friend,” Remus said. He swallowed against the grief that welled within him, even now, and gave her a sad half-smile. “Believe me, Miss Granger, I _do_ understand.”

Miss Granger nodded at that and stared at her shoes for a moment.

“What will you do, Professor?” She asked.

“I don’t know,” he replied slowly. He smirked to himself. “Perhaps I’ll adopt a stray dog.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Miss Granger said with a nod of her head that made her wild curls shake. She looked at him with too-wise eyes. “He needs you.”

Remus could feel his own dull flush creep up his neck. “Miss Granger,” he spluttered.

“Professor.” Miss Granger thrust out a hand. “It was an honor to learn from you, sir.”

Remus stared at her outthrust hand for several long moments before he finally took it and shook it gingerly. “It was an honor to learn from all of you as well,” he replied.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Losing your ex-convict ex-boyfriend. Again._

“Sirius no!” Remus’s scream was drowned out by Harry’s bellow.

“SIRIUS!”

Time slowed down to a crawl as Sirius fell backwards through the Veil. All the air left Remus’ lungs and he dove for Harry as the only lodestone left for him in the world. It wasn’t until his lungs burned that he remembered to breathe. Harry struggled in his grip, but Remus clung to the boy like a limpet.

“There’s nothing you can do, Harry—” He almost choked on the words even as he said them.

“Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!” Harry commanded. Remus closed his eyes.

“It’s too late, Harry—” He loathed himself for saying the words aloud.

Harry tried to argue, tried to struggle against him, but Remus knew the truth. He swallowed against the lump in his throat—the urge to throw back his head and howl his grief and rage to the skies above.

There was nothing they could do. Sirius was gone. Again.

 

* * *

 

 

_Fending off delusional Aurors._

“Look, Nym—erm, Tonks,” Remus corrected himself when he saw the furious glare in her eyes. “I’m not really in a place to be in a relationship.”

“You just think that because you’re a werewolf,” Tonks began hotly.

“No,” Remus interrupted her firmly. “ _No_. It has nothing to do with that. There was someone, and… it didn’t work out well… and I’m still… I’m not ready.”

“Molly said that—” Tonks tried again but Remus held up a hand.

“Molly has no idea what she’s talking about,” Remus finally snapped. “She still thinks that Charlie is going to find the right girl and settle down.”

Tonks blinked at that. “But… Charlie’s asexual.”

“I know,” Remus muttered. Tonks threw herself into a chair.

“What a cock up,” she grumbled.

“I know.” Remus sighed and poured himself some of Sirius’ Firewhiskey. Tonks nudged a tumbler in his direction.

“Pour us a glass then,” she demanded.

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Trying to convince people that you do NOT have a drug problem._

 

“Look, Raymond,” the diner manager began.

“It’s Remus,” Remus reminded him, again, with a sigh.

“Sure, sure,” the diner manager agreed. “I try not to poke my nose into my people’s business, but… I noticed that you requested three days off in a row again this month.”

“There isn’t anything against it,” Remus said with a small frown.

“No, no, there isn’t,” the diner manager agreed. “It’s just… you know if you have a problem, you can come to me, right?”

“If I have a problem?” Remus repeated slowly.

The diner manager shuffled his feet and avoided direct eye contact. “You always look like shite warmed over when you come back,” he muttered. “My cousin Jack—”

“I do not have a drug problem,” Remus snapped. The diner manager held up his hands placatingly.

“Of course not, Raymond,” he agreed.

“It’s _Remus_ ,” Remus growled low in his throat.

“Sure, sure,” the diner manager muttered and hustled out of the room.

Remus leaned against the wall and let his head fall against the tile with a thump. He closed his eyes and pressed against them with the heels of his hands. It was probably a good thing that he’d already started filling out applications. Again.

 

* * *

 

 

_Dealing with bossy, idealistic witches._

“I’m going to fix it,” Hermione announced with a fierce gleam in her eyes that Moony found amusing.

“And how is that?” Remus asked indulgently.

Hermione sniffed and tossed her hair. “I’m going to become the Minister of Magic.”

“Oh really?” He couldn’t keep the amusement out of his voice. Hermione glared at him.

“Do you think I can’t?” She demanded.

“Hermione, it isn’t that I don’t think you’re not capable,” Remus said carefully. He rubbed his hands on his robes. “It’s just… the Ministry is filled with arseholes.”

“I know it is,” Hermione snapped. She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “The rampant abuse of power, the corruption, the cronyism—it made us vulnerable to Voldemort.”

Pride swelled in Remus. Hermione’s friendship was one the bright notes in Remus’ post-War life. As ridiculous as her plan sounded, Remus suspected that if anyone could make it work it would be Hermione Granger.

“I’ll need your help,” Hermione added with a decisive nod.

“My help?” Remus repeated in surprise.

“Of course,” Hermione told him. She tilted her head at him then. “You owe me a debt, remember?”

A startled laugh escaped Remus at that, and Hermione beamed with smug satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

 

_Trying to figure out if one’s ex-convict ex-boyfriend was trying to drive one mad._

“Remus!” Hermione’s voice was a frantic screech that made Remus spill hot tea in his lap, swear a blue streak, and then race for the Floo.

“Hermione?” Remus leaned down to see her in the grate.

“Remus!” Relief flooded her features and she grinned at him. “Come through, quickly!”

“What can the Minister of Magic need with one broken-down, old werewolf?” Remus asked once he’d stepped through the Floo into Hermione’s office.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far, Moony,” a familiar voice teased.

Remus spun about and stared at Sirius who was sprawled in one of Hermione’s chairs. He knew he was staring. He knew he should say something, but the words wouldn’t come. His throat worked frantically, but nothing escaped except for a broken whimper.

Sirius was in his arms, touching his face and pressing kisses along his jaw. Remus pulled back and framed Sirius’ face in his hands.

“How?” He whispered.

“Magic,” Sirius told him with a little smirk that shouldn’t have been half as appealing as it was.

As odd as it was to think, the Veil had been good for Sirius. He looked so much better than he had when he’d gone through. The damage that Azkaban had wrought upon his body and soul seemed to be healed to some degree. Another whimper escaped Remus’ lips and he buried his face in Sirius’ neck so that he could breathe in his scent.

“It’s okay, Moony,” Sirius whispered and stroked his hair. “I’m here. I’m here.”

“I’ll just give you two some time,” Hermione muttered and before Remus could protest, she’d escaped her office.

“Hermione’s all grown up,” Sirius murmured in Remus’ hair. He made some kind of grunt of assent, and Sirius continued. “Her arse is a bloody work of art.”

Remus growled into Sirius’s neck and Sirius chuckled.

“Don’t worry, Moony. Yours is the only arse I’m after,” Sirius assured him. He paused and then added, “for now.”

Remus grabbed Sirius and dragged him toward the Floo. He’d show the disappearing, reappearing bastard who was after whose arse.

 

* * *

 

 

_Dealing with arses that really were bloody works of art._

“Could you not stare?” Remus demanded with an irritated huff.

“How can you not stare?” Sirius retorted. He waved a hand in Hermione’s direction. “Look at that arse!”

“Shh!” Remus clapped a hand over Sirius’ mouth. “Do you want _everyone_ to hear you?”

Sirius glared at Remus over the top of his hand, and Remus removed it with a heavy sigh.

“Who cares who hears me?” Sirius protested.

“She’s your godson’s best friend,” Remus muttered.

“My godson who is older than I am?” Sirius retorted. “The one who is married with kids? That one?”

Remus sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah, that one.”

“He’s fine with the fact that _we’re_ dating,” Sirius reminded him.

“I’ll grant you that,” Remus agreed. “But who’s to say he would be fine with me dating you _and_ his best friend?”

“So you want to date her too?” Sirius asked with a wide, devious grin.

“What?” Remus squeaked and then glared at Sirius. “No, of course not.”

“You do, don’t you,” Sirius teased him. “You want to date her!”

“Who does Remus want to date?” Hermione asked curiously.

Heat suffused Remus’ face and ignored Sirius who was snickering to himself.

“No one,” Remus muttered. “I’m not… no one.”

“I like that, no one,” Sirius huffed. “What about me? I’m not no one!”

“You could be no one if you don’t knock it off,” Remus growled at him.

“Naw, you love me too much,” Sirius countered with a shake of his head.

Hermione smiled fondly at the both of them. “Don’t have too much fun,” she told Sirius and she kissed them both on the check. “See you later!”

Both Remus and Sirius turned to watch Hermione and her perfect, bitable arse walk toward the Floo. They sighed at almost the exact same time.

“Are we ever going to tell her, Moony?” Sirius asked in a quiet, subdued voice.

Remus rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, course we will.”

“Yeah,” Sirius murmured.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. The Princess Who Couldn't Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some of these prompts are so wildly different that it is going to be impossible to have a cohesive, linear plot with an over-reaching story. These are one-shots, stand-alones, etc. You’ll see what I mean as we go along. Some of these prompts are going to be quite the challenge…
> 
> This week’s prompt was “the retelling of a fairy tale,” which might seem easy enough, except for the fact that I’ve actually done several HP fairy tale stories. I had to think of one I *hadn’t* done that might fit the Siremione theme.
> 
> There are NOT a lot (or any) fairy tales with multiple love interests. I tried to think of stories that might fit or might work (Ivan Tsarevitch, the Firebird, and the Wolf), but most of them really didn’t. Finally, I thought of The Princess Who Couldn’t Smile/Laugh. Who better to make a Gryffindor Princess laugh than two Marauders?
> 
> So this is set in fairy tale land, but is not magical. The original fairy tale didn’t have magic as an element, so I didn’t use it here.

 

 

The Princess Who Couldn’t Smile

 

Once upon a time, in the kingdom of Gryffindor there lived a brave King named Godric. Gryffindor was a happy, peaceful kingdom, and King Godric was mostly content, except for one, small thing-- his daughter never smiled, or laughed. Perhaps good King Godric might have ordered his daughter to smile, but he was not that kind of king, nor that kind of father.

All that Godric wished for was that his daughter might be happy, and that she would smile and laugh as other young ladies of the court were wont to do. Godric had consulted with his advisors. He had sent his knights out on quests to search out every wise woman and every hermit—looking for some kind of cure, but no one had been successful.

“Your grace, her royal highness’ tutors are here,” Royal Page Colin announced.

Godric looked up from the regional reports and frowned at his newest page. The boy practically vibrated with excitement, and he was so eager to do his job properly, that Godric was half-exhausted just watching the lad. He waved a hand at the Royal Page.

“Show them in, please,” Godric replied. He set aside the regional reports and sat back in his chair to await the new tutor for the princess of Gryffindor.

It was no secret that the Princess Hermione was devoted to her studies. As a child her favourite question had always been “why?” and Godric had made sure to surround his beloved daughter with people who could help her learn the answers to her questions.

The Lady Minerva of Ross had been with her royal highness, the princess of Gryffindor since she was a small child. In fact, Lady Minerva had fulfilled a motherly sort of role for the Princess Hermione, and had morphed from being her royal highness’ governess to being more of an advisor to the princess. Master Remus Lupin was a newer appointment who had been hired to challenge the princess, and encourage her continued interest in her studies with a focus on political studies and statecraft.

“Your grace,” Lady Minerva murmured and curtseyed deeply.

“Your grace,” Remus Lupin echoed, bowing.

“Lady Minerva, Master Lupin,” Godric acknowledged them both.

“How can we serve your grace?” Lady Minerva asked.

“The Princess Hermione,” Godric sighed. Lady Minerva’s eye twitched.

“What has her royal highness done now, your grace?” Lady Minerva asked cautiously.

Master Lupin turned to stare at Lady Minerva. “Is her royal highness… prone to, erm, _mischief_?” He asked in a careful voice.

Lady Minerva waved a hand impatiently at Master Lupin. “Of course not,” Lady Minerva retorted with a sniff. “Princess Hermione is perfectly behaved at all times.”

“The princess has a tendency to take on projects,” Godric explained.

“She attempted to form a union for sex workers,” Lady Minerva observed drily. “There was also the time that she suggested that his royal grace might admit women to his knighthood.”

“And to my privy council,” Godric added. He smirked at Master Lupin. “So I added the Lady Minerva.”

“I see,” Master Lupin murmured faintly.

“I blame Lady Minerva, of course,” Godric continued with a smirk. “She is a strong-willed woman, and she has been Princess Hermione’s governess since she was a child.”

Lady Minerva made a very unlady-like snort. “Queen Cliodne was just as strong-willed, sire.”

A nostalgic smile curved Godric’s lips for just a moment. “She was at that.”

“What is the problem with her royal highness then?” Mr. Lupin asked with a small frown.

“You might have noticed that the princess doesn’t laugh,” Lady Minerva explained after a quick glance at Godric who nodded his permission.

“I… I had, actually,” Mr. Lupin offered. “Two of the squires attempted to prank me on my first day, and it backfired on them rather spectacularly. Everyone who saw it laughed, except for the princess.”

“Fred and George,” Lady Minerva growled. “They’ll be lucky if they live long enough to gain their spurs.”

“High-spirited lads,” Godric said with a wide grin. “Remind me of myself at that age.”

“Hmph.” Lady Minerva huffed in irritation.

“Minnie,” Godric sighed and his shoulders slumped. “What do I do? How do I help our girl?”

“Your grace,” Mr. Lupin spoke and then hesitated. Godric waved a hand at him impatiently.

“Spit it out for Merlin’s sake,” Godric grumbled at him. “If it will help my daughter, I’ll try it. Merlin knows I’ve tried everything.”

“Perhaps some kind of contest?” Mr. Lupin hazarded. “If… if the princess were the judge, and there were some sort of prize, then… well, I imagine a lot of people would enter—and that would be a lot of people trying to… to make her laugh.”

“A contest,” Godric murmured.

“Never mind,” Mr. Lupin blurted out. “It’s a stupid idea.”

“No, it’s a brilliant idea,” Godric decided eagerly. “But what would bring people to Hogwarts?”

“Erm…” Mr. Lupin looked to Lady Minerva for help, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

“Perhaps if we thought about it for a day or two, your grace,” Lady Minerva suggested.

“Of course,” Godric agreed with a slightly distracted air. He waved a hand at the both of them. “You may leave us.”

Lady Minerva curtseyed deeply and back slowly out of the room. Mr. Lupin bowed and then backed out of the room, following Lady Minerva.

“My lady,” Mr. Lupin said once they were alone. He rubbed his hand over his mouth. “What do we do?”

“I suggest you go think of a way to bring people to Hogwarts,” Lady Minerva told him tartly. She tilted her head and eyed Mr. Lupin. “And perhaps you’ll think of a way to make the princess laugh.”

 

* * *

 

 

“When does my foster brother return?” Princess Hermione asked with a heavy sigh.

“When does the Black Knight return is what my lady meant to say, I’m sure,” Lady Ginevra teased.

“As princess of Gryffindor I am, of course, concerned for the safety and well-being of all of my father’s knights,” Princess Hermione huffed, but her cheeks flushed and she refused to look her lady-in-waiting in the eye.

“Of course,” Lady Ginevra agreed solemnly. Then she smirked wickedly at her princess. “But Sir Sirius is pleasing to the eye, is he not, my lady?”

“It is the consensus among the court,” Princess Hermione grumbled, and picked at a loose thread on her gown. She sighed again and turned to stare out her bedroom window. “It hardly matters. Sir Sirius will never see me as anything more than a child.”

“My lady,” Lady Ginevra protested. “You were eleven years old and you had the flu.”

“I threw up on him,” Princess Hermione reminded her. She turned to her lady-in-waiting and grimaced. “It’s my understanding that being thrown up stays with a person.”

“Did you know that your new tutor, Mr. Lupin, came from the Black Knight’s estate?” Lady Ginevra teased her. “Perhaps you could ask him if Sir Sirius has ever mentioned you.”

“He did?” Hermione asked curiously.

The mysterious Mr. Lupin had been the subject of much debate with his reserved manner and his scarred face. Hermione had done her best not to stare when the Lady Minerva had introduced them. She imagined that whatever had caused them had to have been painful, and she suspected that Mr. Lupin would rather not discuss them.

It had been lovely to have someone as well read as Mr. Lupin to challenge her in her studies. He was a wonderful tutor—patient, kind, and thought-provoking. Hermione found herself actively seeking his praise and basking in the approval shining in his green eyes. He had never been anything less than perfectly proper, but Hermione couldn’t help the way her heart raced every time he argued philosophy with her.

“That’s what Lavender and Parvati said at dinner last night,” Ginevra said with a shrug. “You’d know the gossip if you ate in the Hall more often.”

“I hate sitting at the dais,” Hermione confessed with a frown. “Everyone is always staring at me.”

“That’s because of the…,” Ginevra paused and grimaced. “You know.”

“Yeah,” Hermione sighed.

On any given day, the Princess-Who-Couldn’t-Smile was the major topic of gossip. Any time anyone came to the capital of Hogwarts, or any time a traveling dignitary came to treat with her father they would find a way to take a look at her. Hermione hated it, but there was nothing she could do to change it.

One of her more imaginative ladies-in-waiting, the Lady Lavender, was convinced that Hermione had been cursed by a dark sorcerer, which was so ridiculous that if Hermione could have laughed, she would have been rolling on the floor crying with laughter.

The Lady Luna insisted that it was because Hermione was infested with nargles, whatever _those_ were. Lady Minerva hadn’t wanted to take any chances—they had burned all of her bedding _and_ her clothing. Hermione still hadn’t completely forgiven Luna for that one.

“You should come tonight,” Ginevra urged her. “Perhaps you could sit next to Mr. Lupin.”

“Perhaps I should,” Hermione murmured.

 

* * *

 

 

“Master Lupin,” the princess greeted him with a regal nod of her head as she entered the library where her studies took place.

The court fashions took some getting used to, but Remus was slowly becoming accustomed. The princess’ thick curls had been subdued into two, thick braids wrapped with embroidered red and gold ribbons. Little bells were affixed to the ends of her braids that tinkled merrily when she moved. A thin circlet held a white linen veil over her hair.

“Your highness,” Remus replied with a polite bow.

Being at court, surrounded by nobility, had not been _his_ idea, but it had always been difficult for him to say no to Sirius.

_“I need you there, Moony.”_

As usual, Sirius hadn’t been forthcoming with _why_ Remus needed to mingle with nobility.

The princess had been a welcome surprise. The rumours about her condition were rife throughout the country, but no one ever talked about how very clever she was. Remus often thought her the brightest young woman of her age. Her Greek was a bit rusty, but her Latin was outstanding, and she had ploughed through Boethius with a determination that was intimidating.

It must also be admitted that Remus did the best he could to avoid noting the line of her throat, the slender bones of her wrists, and the fetching way she chewed the end of her quill when she was thinking.

“Can I…,” the princess paused and bit her lip. She fidgeted for a moment, her bells chiming softly and then she sighed and sat down in her seat with graceless thump that was very unlike her. “Can I ask you something Master Lupin?”

“Of course, your highness,” Remus assured her.

“Has my father lost his mind?” Her highness demanded with an angry huff.

“I beg your highness’ pardon?” Remus’ voice cracked.

“He’s giving me away in marriage!” Princess Hermione’s voice rang out angrily. “To the first idiot who manages to make me laugh!”

“He… worries,” Remus muttered.

“He should!” The princess’ voice rose to an angry shriek.

“He just… he wants you to be happy,” Remus explained and then held out his hands in supplication. “I’m… I’m sorry, your highness.”

“I’m happy,” the princess protested in a sad voice that belied her words. She turned to look at Remus with her umber eyes and he swallowed hard. “I know that he… that all of you… want me to laugh and to smile, but I… I can’t.”

“Is it…,” Remus cleared his throat. “Do you… do you know why?”

The princess shook her head and the little bells on her braids chimed. “No,” she whispered. Her lips twisted. “One of my ladies-in-waiting thinks it must be a dark sorcerer.”

Remus snorted at that. “Some sort of _magic curse_?” He asked disbelief thick in his voice.

“Lavender has always been given to flights of fancy,” The princess sighed.

“Don’t worry, your highness,” Remus said. “We’ll think of something.”

The princess turned to stare at him for a moment. Her lips twitched, almost as though she was trying to smile, and she nodded at him.

“Thank you, Master Lupin. I will keep your words as a source of comfort,” she replied in a soft voice.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Word of Godric Gryffindor’s pronouncement had spread far and wide. People poured into the capitol city of Hogwarts—each one convinced that he or she would be the one to make the Princess-Who-Couldn’t-Smile laugh.

Day after day, week after week, Hermione was forced to sit on the public dais that the castle’s craftspeople had erected in the courtyard. There were jugglers and jongleurs, tumblers and rope-dancers, commoners and the nobility, all competing to win Hermione’s hand in marriage.

One morning, the Lady Luna was attending Hermione and helping her dress for another long day of people attempting the strange and the fantastic in an attempt to make her laugh. Hermione was exhausted just thinking about it. She dragged herself around her room with Lady Luna trailing after her.

“The nargles are even worse,” Lady Luna said sadly. Hermione whirled on her and pointed a finger at her.

“Don’t you dare,” Hermione hissed. “If they burn all my bedding again, I will take over _your_ rooms.”

“Don’t be silly, my lady,” Lady Luna said with a shake of her head. “This should take care of everything.”

With an air of great ceremony, Lady Luna placed something about her neck. Hermione hesitated to call it necklace. It certainly wasn’t a torc or a rosary. Hermione picked it up and examined it carefully.

“Luna… are these, erm, beads made of _cork_?” Hermione demanded.

“Oh yes,” Luna agreed. “There’s a cork tree in Queen Cliodne’s garden.”

“There is?” Hermione could feel tears well in her eyes and she blinked them back.

Things that had belonged to her mother were few and far between. The cork bead necklace that Luna had given her to scare off nargles was preposterous, but Hermione couldn’t help but feel as though her mother were with her when her fingers slid over the little rough beads.

“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione whispered.

“Of course, my lady,” Luna said with a bright smile. She patted Hermione’s arm fondly.

 

* * *

 

 

It had not been Sirius’ week. Actually, it hadn’t been Sirius’ week for some time. He had been traveling for months. Lord Harry, the foster brother to the Princess Hermione, the Champion of Gryffindor, had ventured forth on a noble quest on behalf of his beloved foster sister. As Harry’s godfather, Sirius had been compelled to go with Harry to help him.

Twelve years as a prisoner in an oubliette in the dungeons of the Dark Lord of Slytherin had forced Sirius to miss a lot of Harry’s life. Now he was finally back in Gryffindor where he belonged. He should be focusing on recovering his life and making sure that his lands and his people were well.   


Instead, all Sirius could think about was the fact that he had failed Remus when he had needed Sirius the most. When he wasn’t wracked with guilt over his failures in regard to Remus, he was struck by the fact that the tiny Princess Hermione was now a grown woman who had more important things to worry about than one broken down old knight.

“What are you thinking about?” Remus asked in the silence of their room.

“How much I’ve failed you.” Sirius’ voice cracked.

“Hey,” Remus protested. “None of that.”

“You told me not to go,” Sirius sighed. “You begged me, in fact.”

“Don’t do this, Sirius,” Remus protested. “We promised to let it go. Remember?”

“It’s all my fault,” Sirius reminded him. “James. His lady wife. Y-you.”

“How could we know that Peter was working for Slytherin bastard?” Remus tried to soothe Sirius.

“I thank the gods every day that you managed to escape with Harry,” Sirius muttered. “It was the one thing that gave me comfort in that damn oubliette.”

“It was your brother,” Remus whispered. “Regulus sacrificed himself so that I could escape with Harry.”

“The only good thing he ever did,” Sirius grumbled. Remus didn’t argue. He wrapped his arms about Sirius and held on, offering whatever comfort he could.

They lay there together in the dark for a while, Remus gently petting Sirius’ hair.

“Tell me about your princess,” Remus murmured.

Immediately, Sirius stiffened against him. “She’s not mine,”

“She is why you sent me here,” Remus stated calmly.

“She loves to learn,” Sirius mumbled against Remus’ skin. “The last couple of tossers tried to convince Godric that she shouldn’t even be allowed to read. It was a waste of her time.”

“Fuckers,” Remus growled. “Her highness is blindingly brilliant. It would be a bigger waste to let that mind of hers rot.”

“You like her,” Sirius said with an air of wonder.

“So do you, you wanker,” Remus retorted.

“Of course I do,” Sirius agreed.

“What do you think about the king’s plan?” Remus asked.

“Godric’s an idiot,” Sirius snorted. “And if her highness ends up married to someone she can’t stand she’ll have Godric’s bollocks.”

“It didn’t seem the wisest plan,” Remus muttered.

“Godric gets swept up in the excitement of the moment,” Sirius explained. “That and he always gets a little irrational whenever the princess is involved.”

“Come on,” Remus said with a sigh. “Let’s go get washed for your presentation to his grace.”

The large tub was just big enough that Remus and Sirius could squeeze into it together. They scrubbed one another’s backs and splashed each other playfully. It wasn’t until Remus and Sirius climbed out of the wooden bathing tub that Fred and George struck.

Thick viscous honey poured over the both of them at the same time, sliding over their warm, damp skin. Remus shouted in surprise and both he and Sirius looked up at the same time.

“Sir Sirius! Master Lupin!” Fred and George chorused.

A flurry of goose feathers spun in the air and landed on them, sticking to the honey.

“Bloody, buggering fuck!” Sirius bellowed. “I’m supposed to present myself to the king!”

Both Fred and George laughed and took off.

“Come back here!” Remus yelled and ran after the twins.

 

* * *

 

 

Absently, Hermione fingered the string of cork about her neck while she watched a very clumsy juggler. She leaned her cheek upon her hand and sighed. Next to her, her father frowned at the juggler.

“Next!” He called out in his deep, resonant voice.

“Father.” Hermione turned to look at the king. “You don’t have to do this, sire.”

“All I want is for you to be happy, Hermione,” Godric murmured. He paused and looked down at his hands. “Even if… even if this doesn’t work, it gives everyone a chance to look their fill. Maybe they’ll stop staring. Maybe they’ll let you just… be.”

Hermione hugged her father tightly. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you, too, princess,” Godric rumbled. He stiffened next to her. “What the—”

Hermione glanced in the direction her father was looking. Running as fast as they could, their long legs pumping frantically, were the squires Fred and George. Chasing them were what appeared to be two very large, very angry chickens. Hermione blinked in shock at the scene in front of her.

As the feathered creatures drew closer, she could hear the voice of her tutor, Master Lupin, swearing up a storm and threatening both Fred and George with highly improbable acts. The other creature bellowed with rage in a familiar way. With a start of surprise she realized that the other great chicken was none other than the Black Knight who usually appeared perfectly coifed and stylishly dressed.

A startled noise slipped out between her lips as Master Lupin reached out and _almost_ caught one of the twins.

“What was that, Hermione?” Godric turned to his daughter with an expression of shock.

George, or maybe Fred, had the great misfortune to slip on a cow pat and land flat on his back with either Master Lupin or maybe Sirius Black giving a bloodcurdling scream and leaping on the offending twin. Another startled noise escaped Hermione, and Godric grinned widely at her.

“You’re laughing!” He exclaimed.

“I am?” Hermione blinked up at her father.

“You are!” Godric crowed.

As the two feathery chicken-men began to throttle Fred and George, Hermione giggled helplessly until tears slid down her cheeks.

“Who made you laugh sweetheart?” Godric asked. Hermione hiccupped and turned to stare at her father with wide eyes.

Slowly, she turned back to the two feathered men.

“Both of the feathered people, Father,” she told him decisively.

“Both?” Godric’s voice squeaked slightly. “But… but Hermione—”

“I didn’t come up with the idea of marrying me off,” Hermione told him with a great deal of satisfaction. “That was all you. It was both of them, Father.”

Godric huffed in irritation. “We’ll have to figure it out, I guess,” he muttered.

“I guess we will,” Hermione agreed.

 

 

 


	4. Three Little Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week #4 Prompt: A story about three siblings. 
> 
> This was a tricky prompt. The story had to focus on three siblings, but I have my theme of Siremione. How to make this work? 
> 
> Enter Hermione, who has ended up adopting three werewolves.

Family wasn’t about blood, it was about love. Mum had said it often enough that there were days when Alistair almost believed it. Merlin knew the people related to him by blood hadn’t been his family. They had told him so right before they abandoned him in the car park of a Tesco’s. Mum’s lips got tight every time anyone mentioned it, but then again—Mum was pretty protective of all of them.

Once some arsehole at the Ministry had referred to Alistair as Mum’s “half-breed brat” and Mum had punched him right in the face in the middle of the Ministry. Alistair was smart enough to realize that the surprise vacation Mum had dragged them on to Australia was really because she’d been fired. He had been young enough, and his relationship with Mum had been new enough that he had spent a couple of sleepless nights wondering if _this_ would be the moment where Mum would decide that he was too much, and she’d walk away, too.

“Oh, Alistair.” Mum’s eyes had gone glassy and her lips had tightened. “You’re stuck with me, sproglet. We did the adoption spell. Magic binds us together, and even if it didn’t… I _chose_ you. You understand that, right?”

Grandma and Grandpa Granger were all right, for the most part, but Alistair could taste their uneasiness… their fear… and it bothered him. He wished that the world were different. That people didn’t look at him and automatically assume he was going to maul them.

“I’m sorry,” Mum sighed. She looked around Grandma and Grandpa Granger’s backyard and frowned. “I should have… this was a bad idea.”

“Not as bad as punching Mr. Smith in the face,” Alistair muttered.

Mum huffed at that and then her shoulders slumped. “No, I guess not.”

“What are we going to do now, Mum?” Alistair asked quietly. A half-smile quirked about her mouth every time he called her Mum—so he made sure to do it often.

“How do you feel about France?” Mum had asked.

“How do they feel about half-breeds?” Alistair had retorted.

Mum had scowled at that. “Bloody Smith,” she growled. She ran a hand through Alistair’s hair. “They’ve got a reserve. A… a place that you can run as much as you want.”

Alistair could feel his heart race and knew he was hyperventilating. Mum’s hands were a warm, steady weight on his shoulders.

“Breathe, Alistair,” she demanded. “Damn it, _breathe_. It’s… it’s only on the full moons. We’ll rent a house nearby. I’m not going to abandon you!”

Finally, Alistair could catch his breath. Mum breathed with him, in and out slowly, counting their breaths together.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

“No,” Mum countered with a shake of her crazy, curly hair. “You don’t have to be sorry for that. It was my fault. I should have explained it better. I’ve been working on… I spoke to an old Professor, and she’s helped with my Animagus form.” Here Mum made a face. “It’s not exactly the most practical, but I guess it’s better than nothing. I won’t leave you, Alistair. Not even on the full moon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

It had been difficult for Reggie to believe. In the beginning, Mum had been so patient, but Reggie had been certain that it was another lie. She’d destroyed the pretty bedroom that Mum had led her to that first night, and she had stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving and bitter satisfaction curling in her stomach. Now Reggie would know the truth of it, she was sure. Mum had just flicked her wand and everything had repaired itself and floated back where it belonged.

There was a boy, lurking in the doorway, eyeing Reggie with cool speculation. When he stepped into the room, Reggie’s eyes had widened in shock. Scars criss-crossed his face and arms in a very familiar pattern.

“Alistair?” Mum had turned to him and tilted her head. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“It was a bit loud,” Alistair had replied with a shrug.

“This is Regina,” Mum had said and gestured toward her. “Regina, this is my son, Alistair.”

“Reggie,” Reggie muttered.

Alistair shrugged again. “If that’s what you want.”

“Alistair,” Mum had sighed.

“Full moon’s in a couple of days,” Alistair had observed aloud.

“I know,” Reggie had growled from between clenched teeth.

“Mum stays with us,” Alistair had said calmly.

Reggie had blanched at that and turned to stare at Mum with a look of horror. “You can’t!” She had protested.

Mum had smirked at that. “I think you’ll find that I can.”

It really had been that simple. It hadn’t been a lie. Reggie had gained a Mum and a… well, an Alistair anyway. _He_ had taken great delight in telling everyone they met that Reggie was his baby sister, the toe rag. Eventually, Reggie hadn’t minded. Eventually, Reggie had been proud to be claimed as family by Alistair and Mum.

 

* * *

 

 

Reggie and Alistair liked to claim that Leo had had it easy because he was the last. Leo wasn’t quite so sure. When Mum had walked into the French Ministry of Magic with a worried frown—he hadn’t known who she was. Just some Ministry employee, he had assumed, roused out of bed and pulled in because of Leo. Then he’d been taken to a cosy little cottage, and introduced to two other young werewolves who had hovered around Mum and postured protectively, until she had sighed and told Alistair and Reggie to knock it off.

For weeks, Leo hadn’t known where or how he fit into the family he’d been shoved at by the Ministry. Alistair watched Leo carefully, and Regina mimicked his behaviour. Golden eyes tracked Leo’s every move.

It was impossible for Leo to be angry or even insulted by the two werewolves with whom he shared a house. Mum was… Mum was wonderful. She was scary brilliant, impatient with stupidity or sloth, and if she was researching dinner might run a little late. But… Mum treated them like people. When she looked at them there was never fear in her eyes—only love and acceptance.

Before long, Leo knew that he would do anything to keep Mum safe, just like Alistair and Reggie, because Mum had a tendency to think the best of every single werewolf. Merlin knew why.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hogwarts?” Mum appeared to be stunned. She stared at Alistair with wide eyes.

“Yeah,” Alistair muttered.

“But…” Mum trailed off helplessly. “Wizarding Britain is a festering pool of bigotry and prejudice,” she reminded him.

“I remember,” Alistair replied.

“Why?” Mum asked with a hint of desperation to her voice.

“You left because of me,” Alistair reminded her and avoided her startled gaze. “It wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t just because of you,” Hermione protested. “There were other reasons.”

All three of them understood. Mum would cut off her wand arm before she would do anything that would hurt any of them. Mum loved them so fiercely and with all her heart. Sending any of them off to somewhere where she _knew_ they would be hurt had to be killing her.

“I want to show them,” Alistair half-growled. “I’m just as good as they are.”

“Better,” Mum muttered automatically. She stared from Alistair to the letter that he’d shoved at her over breakfast. “We can probably get all of this in Paris. Is that all right with you, or do you want to thumb your nose down Diagon Alley before school even starts?”

“Paris is fine,” Alistair said and rolled his eyes at her.

 

* * *

 

 

King’s Cross Station with Mum was weird. People kept staring at her. Reggie and her brothers positioned themselves around Mum in a defensive pattern. Leo kept tugging on his ear and Alistair scowled at everyone. Finally Reggie poked him.

“Knock it off, Alistair,” Reggie hissed. “You’re going to have everyone hating you before you get there.”

“Remind me to tell you sometime about the time Uncle Harry did not become friends with Draco Malfoy,” Mum murmured absently.

“Why is everyone staring?” Leo asked.

“Oh.” Mum glanced around and then looked at the three of them. “Well, it’s probably a number of factors. I… I’m rather well known, and, erm, I haven’t been back to Wizarding Britain for some time.”

“So it’s not because we’re werewolves?” Leo pressed with a worried frown.

“Of course not,” Mum said so hurriedly that none of them believed her. “Come on; let’s get you on board, Alistair.”

 

* * *

 

 

Almost immediately, Alistair had known there was another werewolf in Hogwarts Castle. An older, scarred wizard was sitting at the high table with the professors, and Alistair could only assume he was a professor, too. Alistair eyed him curiously as he waited to be Sorted. Mum had explained the entire thing to him so he ignored the sly taunts of some of the other students who were going on about wrestling dragons or fighting trolls. He glanced up at the charmed ceiling that his Mum had gone on about—he’d have to make sure that he wrote her tonight and told it was just as nice as she’d said.

A round, friendly witch who introduced herself as Professor Sprout called each of them forward to sit on a stool and try on the Sorting Hat. Alistair watched the older werewolf chat with his dinner companion and gesture toward a couple of the students as they were called.

“Granger, Alistair!”

The werewolf professor turned to stare at Professor Sprout in shock, and the professor sitting next to the werewolf appeared to be just as stunned. Suddenly nervous, Alistair edged toward the stool. He could feel the weight of their gaze on him as the Sorting Hat debated his fate.

There had been a very long, very tedious conversation where Mum had expounded upon the virtues of all the Houses at Hogwarts. Alistair suspected that Mum was worried about influencing them, or something. She had nattered on about House Rivalries, and how he should ignore a person’s House if he wanted to be friends with them, but Alistair had ignored most of it. There was only one House for him.

“GRYFFINDOR!” The hat bellowed.

The two professors appeared to be pleased by that and they both exchanged a glance and clapped as Alistair headed toward the red and gold table.

 

* * *

 

 

The first full moon was… beyond awkward. When Professor Lupin, as Alistair had learned the older werewolf was called, walked him to the Whomping Willow Mum was waiting with Reggie and Leo. Professor Lupin froze with one hand on Alistair’s shoulder.

“Hermione,” Professor Lupin murmured.

“Remus,” Mum replied with a polite nod.

Automatically, Alistair slipped out from under Professor Lupin’s hand and moved toward his Mum.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Professor Lupin protested.

Mum shrugged as though she hadn’t a care in the world as a huge, black dog stepped carefully in the room. She nodded at the dog.

“Hello, Sirius,” she greeted him calmly. She turned toward Alistair and smiled fondly at him. “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Now, the three of you play nice with Professor Lupin and Professor Black.”

Reggie snorted at that. Mum rolled her eyes and then transformed into her Animagus.

“An _otter_?” Professor Lupin murmured in surprise.

“What’s wrong with otters?” Leo demanded with a dark scowl.

“Nothing,” Professor Lupin replied. He shook his head. “This is… so unexpected.”

Mum chittered at them, and Professor Black barked.

“Mum never leaves us alone at the full moon,” Reggie told Professor Lupin with an autocratic sniff. “She certainly wasn’t going to let Alistair suffer by himself.”

Mum patted Reggie on the foot with one paw and lifted her furry little chin at Professor Lupin.

“No, of course not,” Professor Lupin muttered with a strange expression.

What followed was the strangest full moon that Alistair had ever had. The only thing he knew for certain was that Professor Black and Professor Lupin were _interested_ in _Mum_. _His_ Mum. He exchanged glances with Reggie and Leo after they finished dressing and the other two nodded grimly.

“They’ll never know what hit them,” Reggie said with dark satisfaction.

Leo nodded. “Nobody messes with _our_ Mum.”

Alistair tousled his little brother’s hair. “No they don’t kiddo.”

 

* * *

 

 

Somehow, the professors always knew. It was infuriating and baffling. Even worse, they were managing to woo Mum on the full moons. Stupid Professor Black in his stupid Grim form would go get flowers and bring them to Otter-Mum. In the beginning, Mum would eat them, which they all found encouraging, but that didn’t last.

Stupid Moony, which was what they called Professor Lupin during the full moon, would try to nuzzle Otter-Mum, but usually the three of them managed to nip that in the bud.

“I appreciate that the three of you are protective,” Mum said when she sat the three of them down. “But it’s unnecessary.”

“We’re not stupid, Mum,” Reggie had burst out at that point. She pointed an angry finger at both professors. “They hurt you! And you’re just… you’re letting them in again!”

“Oh, Reggie,” Mum said quietly. Her face got all sad and she had pulled Reggie in for a tight hug.   


“We did hurt your Mum,” Professor Black admitted. All three of them growled at that, and he nodded at them with approval shining in his grey eyes. He glanced at Professor Lupin. “We were sure we were right, and we were pig-headed and stubborn about it.”

“But we were wrong,” Professor Lupin whispered.

“Really, really, really wrong,” Professor Black added.

“Are you gonna hurt her again?” Leo demanded with a frown.

“Not on purpose,” Professor Black said carefully, “but we might.”

“Why?” Leo asked. “Why would you do that? Mum is the best!”

Professor Lupin smiled softly at that. “Your Mum is the best. Sometimes, Leo, we hurt people even when we love them. Sirius and I wouldn’t try to hurt Hermione, but we can’t guarantee that it won’t ever happen.”

“Ultimately, it’s your Mum’s choice,” Professor Black said. He shrugged when they all glared at him. “It is, and we’ll abide by her decision.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I still don’t like it,” Reggie grumbled.

“Mum seems really happy,” Leo pointed out.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Alistair promised Reggie. “Make sure they don’t screw it up.”

Reggie nodded. “Okay.”

 

 


	5. Trivium Londinii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week 5 Prompt: "A story set in London"
> 
> In the 5th year of the reign of Hadrianus Augustus, the Emperor came to Britannia and visited the thriving Roman town of Londinium. How will Hermione, a priestess of Isis, and Remus, a Centurion in Hadrian's army, prepare for his arrival? When Hadrian arrives, what figures from Hermione's and from Remus' past will follow him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I've never been to London. Unless some kind soul out there pays for a plane ticket and lodging, the chances of that happening are pretty slim. I was hesitant to write about modern London because I was afraid that I'd end up making the story completely awkward because I misunderstood how Oyster cards work, or something. So you get this story, which is set in 2nd century Londinium. 122 CE, specifically. (That's the year that Hadrian visited Britannia.)
> 
> This week's story ended up being a little late. Work, home life, and the thrill of research are all a little responsible. There is an amazing website that helps you calculate travel times from one place in the Roman Empire to another. Also... I debated whether or not to make this Regency London, or Romano-Celtic Londinium. For those that saw this on FB or tumblr-- Regency London is coming. Chapter 18.

_Temple of Isis_

_Londinium, 5 th year of the reign of Hadrianus Augustus_

 

Living in Londinium had been interesting. With the way that Lavender and Parvati had carried on, one would have assumed that Hermione was being sent to some tiny, remote, tidewater town, but Londinium was a bustling, thriving city—perhaps not quite as cosmopolitan as Alexandria, but few cities were.

As a priestess of Isis, Hermione’s days were filled with obligations and duties, but she had her days off, just like any priestess, and she enjoyed watching dramatic plays and watching wrestling like anyone else. When she knew a ship had come in from Egypt, she would hurry to the docks to see if Lavender or Parvati had sent her anything. Her sisters in Isis sent her scrolls filled with gossip, but they also sent her treats from home: small jars of perfume, bolts of cotton, new scrolls copied in a careful hand from the Library.

“ _Salve, Sacerdos_ ,” the Harbour Master greeted her politely. Hermione nodded back.

“ _Salve, Portum Dominum_ ,” Hermione replied. She tried not to fidget. _Priestesses of Isis do not fidget_ , whispered a voice that sounded disturbingly like the High Priestess of the Iseum. “Has the boat from Alexandria arrived?”

The Harbour Master pulled a scroll out of his robes and looked it over carefully. He frowned and hummed to himself as he carefully made his way down the list.

“Just this morning,” the Harbour Master said at last. He frowned at Hermione over his scroll. “The _Heart of Isis_ is berthed in dock 27. They have paid their harbour fees and are free to unload their cargo.”

“ _Gratias tibi ago, Portum Dominum_ ,” Hermione said gratefully. The Harbour Master smiled at that.

“ _Libet_ ,” he assured her. “ _Vale, Sacerdos_.”

_“Vale_ ,” Hermione called over her shoulder as she hurried toward the dock that had been assigned to the _Heart of Isis_.

It was a pleasure and a relief to hear the rise and fall of Coptic and Greek as the mariners bantered back and forth. Occasionally, a phrase or two of Hebrew drifted to Hermione and she hurried even faster.

“Good day, _Heart of Isis_ ,” Hermione called out in Coptic.

“It is a good day when we are blessed with a servant of Isis,” one of the mariners replied in the same language with a deep bow. “How can this one serve the temple of Isis?”

“There should be a package from the temple in Alexandria,” Hermione explained.

“Hermione!” A cheerful voice called her name.

Surprised, Hermione turned around. Moving across the deck of the ship was Cedric, one of the junior priests of the Serapeum in Alexandria. She could only assume that he had come to the Serapeum in Londinium, but she couldn’t guess as to why.

“Cedric,” Hermione greeted him with the polite bow of a priestess of Isis to a priest of Serapis.

As the worship of Isis and Serapis were closely linked in Alexandria, Hermione was used to seeing Cedric about her own temple’s complex. Often he would enter the public areas of the Iseum with messages from the Serapeum’s High Priest. There had even been one or two joint festivals where she had participated in rituals with Cedric. He was friendly, polite, and kind to others.

“I had hoped to run into you, but not quite so quickly,” he told her with a bright artless smile.

“Do you bring news of Alexandria?” Hermione asked worriedly.

“I do, but it will keep,” Cedric assured her. “I’ve got the things that Lavender and Parvati sent you, including about 6 feet of scroll.”

Hermione laughed at that. Both Lavender and Parvati had probably recorded every piece of tittle-tattle that had occurred within a thousand cubits of Alexandria.

“Well come with me then, and I will show you to Londinium’s Serapeum. It is close by the Iseum, of course,” Hermione added as she moved aside so that Cedric could clamber down from the ship.

“Of course,” Cedric agreed. He reached up and took a large bundle from one of the mariners who passed it down. He looked up at the gentleman who had greeted Hermione so politely. “I’ll send some novitiates from the temple for the rest.”

“As you will, Priest,” the man said with a nod.

“I thought you would never leave Alexandria,” Hermione commented as they walked together.

Cedric shrugged. “I didn’t have a choice.”

Hermione’s eyebrows rose at that. “Is this a punishment, then?”

“No.” Cedric shook his head. “It was important news, and the High Priest wanted to be certain that his messenger would be heeded.”

“What news?” Hermione asked and her stomach flipped nervously.

“Hadrian is coming to Britannia,” Cedric explained.

“The Emperor?” Hermione’s voice rose to a squeak.

Cedric nodded. “I have orders for the Serapeum here to solicit funds for repairs.” He paused and frowned slightly. “Was it badly damaged during the rebellion?”

“No,” Hermione replied. “It could use with a coat of whitewash and perhaps a new mosaic.”

“Good,” Cedric said with a grin of relief. “The High Priest worried that the High Priest of Londinium’s Serapeum might be downplaying the damage.”

“I don’t think so,” Hermione said thoughtfully. “Not unless it’s within the inner sanctum.”

“It’s good to see you, Hermione,” Cedric said when she stopped outside the Serapeum. “We will have to have dinner while I’m here.”

“I will speak to the High Priestess,” Hermione said. “We will throw you a welcome feast.”

“I thank you,” Cedric murmured. He bowed to her and then handed over the large bundle. When she took it he grinned at her. Leaning forward, he kissed each cheek. “Those are from Lavender and Parvati. They miss you terribly, you know.”

“So they say in their scrolls,” Hermione laughed. “Thank you, Cedric.”

“My pleasure, Priestess of Isis.” Cedric bowed again.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Visitors to the Temple of Isis in Londinium were common. Worshippers from all over Britannia made the trek so that they could pray and make offerings to the Queen of Heaven. Hermione had no problem admitting that very few of those worshippers were from the Roman legions. The military of Rome preferred to worship Sol Invictus or Mithra.

Therefore it was with some surprise that Hermione noted a Centurion wandering around the public part of the temple looking slightly lost and confused. Hermione studied him for a moment. He was tall and lean with numerous battle scars littering his visible flesh.

“Can I help you?” Hermione asked.

The Centurion spun on his heel, his flashing eyes finding Hermione almost immediately. He gaze roved over Hermione for a moment. She could see the moment when he realized that she was a priestess of the temple. He relaxed slightly, and nodded to her.

“I… how do I leave an offering?” He asked.

Hermione blinked at that. “Are you a follower of Isis?”

“My mother was,” he explained. He sighed and ran a hand over his short hair. “She made an offering for me when I first joined the legion, and she continued to make offerings for me until… last fall.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hermione murmured. She smiled sympathetically at the Centurion. “The Queen of Heaven looks after all her children. I’m certain that she will guide your mother to the Underworld, and that she will watch over you on your mother’s behalf.”

“Thank you,” the Centurion replied.

“Would you like to leave an offering?” Hermione asked.

“Erm, yeah. Lupines were Mater’s favourite flowers. I, erm, I brought an arrangement. Is that okay?” The Centurion moved over to a small bundled in the corner and carefully picked up a wreath of lupines.

“Those are lovely,” Hermione said with a soft smile. “I’m sure our Lady would approve.”

“Thank you.” The Centurion ducked his head and flushed. Hermione patted him on the arm.

“Come along, I’ll show you the way to the public altar.” Hermione moved forward and walked down the hall. “Is there anything in particular that is troubling you? Anything that you are hoping that She can help you with?”

“The Emperor is coming to Britannia,” The Centurion admitted after hesitating for a moment. “He will not be happy about the rebellions of the last couple of years. I worry that… I worry that he will be displeased.”

“Ah,” Hermione sighed and made a grimace. “We, too, are worried about Hadrian’s visit. We are going to probably repaint the temple, update the mosaics, and make some new clothing for our Lady.”

“The legion is similar,” The Centurion said. “We’ve got new recruits digging new latrines, and we’re repairing all the forts.”

“Just through here.” Hermione gestured with practiced ease.

Cradling Her son in Her arms, Isis sat on Her throne, her calm, peaceful gaze looking out over the room. The priestesses had dressed Her in brilliant blue that day, with gold adorning Her marble wrists and brow. The Centurion laid the wreath on Her altar and then knelt in quiet prayer. Hermione found made a small bow of supplication toward the figure and then moved back toward the entry way to allow the Centurion space to honour his mother’s memory.

Just as Hermione got back to the entry way, she heard the slap of leather sandals against the floor. She turned to find the Centurion hurrying after her.

“Wait,” he called. When he approached her, his cheeks were slightly flushed, making his scars stand out against his skin.

“Yes?” Hermione asked.

“I was… are you allowed to… do you want to have dinner?” The Centurion stumbled over his words and then flushed even darker.

“I am allowed to take lovers, if that is what you were asking,” Hermione replied calmly. The Centurion spluttered and averted his gaze. “There are certain days that our Lady requires us to fast and to remain celibate so that we can focus on our worship of Her. I can get you a liturgical calendar if you would like.”

“That isn’t necessary,” he rushed to assure her. Then he paused and frowned. “I mean, it isn’t as though I wouldn’t want to—but I just met you and… Mithra help me,” he groaned. Hermione laughed and patted his arm.

“Let us begin with dinner, then?” Hermione suggested.

“Yes,” The Centurion replied with a grateful look. “Erm, this is going to seem odd, but… what’s your name?”

“Hermione,” she replied with a smile. “And yours?”

“Remus.” The Centurion answered with his own shy smile.

“Very well, Remus. My next rest day is _Saturni_. Does that work with your schedule?” Hermione asked.

“ _Saturni_ ,” Remus agreed. “I have second vigil so I’ll come for you at _Septima_?”

“That’s perfect.” Hermione smiled at the Centurion. “I look forward to it.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

_Dies Saturni_ dawned bright and clear, which seemed to be a positive sign for the coming evening and Remus’ date with the priestess of Isis. _Hermione_. The golden bronze of her skin reminded him of the Mediterranean and home. There was a slight accent to her Latin that made him wonder which corner of the Empire had been her home. He knew his own Latin still held hints of his childhood on the Rhine.

Here in Londinium, all citizens of Rome blended together from the far-flung edges of her empire. He had soldiers in his century that had come from Cyrenaica, Aegyptia, Cappadocia, Hispania, Germania, Thracia, and Italia. It made for several options for dinner. There was a small tavern run by a couple from Lusitania. They were well-known for their savoury walnut tart, and their lentils served with fresh, crusty bread.

Nerves made Remus’ stomach flip throughout most of the day. His soldiers noticed, but they were too smart to say anything about it. The one time one of them had tried to tease Remus about his love life; he had made them run until they puked. No one could say his lads were stupid—they’d learned their lesson.

_Finally_ , second vigil was over. Remus went to the baths and rushed through them—completely skipping the soaking pools this once. He combed through his hair and straightened his tunic. It would have to be good enough. It wasn’t as though Hermione didn’t know that he was a Centurion.

That evening seemed to be under a magical auspice. The weather was perfect for strolling through the city. The tavern that Remus had picked out hadn’t been too crowded, and the alewife outdid herself with her special of the day, which were soft-boiled eggs in a pine-nut sauce.

“So what is your role at the Iseum?” Remus asked curiously.

“I’m the temple librarian,” Hermione replied. “I’m in charge of the scriptorium, and it is my duty to record the annals of the temple.”

“That must be nice,” Remus said thoughtfully, “to be surrounded by all those scrolls—all that knowledge.”

“I enjoy it,” Hermione agreed. She smiled at him. “What about you? I know that you’re a Centurion, but that’s easy for anyone to see. Why did you join the legion?”

“Oh, that’s a boring story,” Remus blurted out. Hermione laughed.

“It doesn’t seem to be,” she countered. She tilted her head and watched him for a moment. “If it is too upsetting, you needn’t speak of it. I know that not everyone’s story is a happy one.”

Remus sighed and shook his head. “It was… I was a boy and foolish.”

“A lover?” Hermione asked.

Remus nodded. “He was lovely and charming,” he sighed with remembered fondness. “A wild boy filled with a zest for life and too much courage than was good for him.”

“But?” Hermione quirked a brow at him.

“A patrician,” Remus confessed with a grimace.

“Ah.” Hermione nodded. “His Pater didn’t approve?”

“His Mater, really. His Pater didn’t argue though,” Remus explained. “She had me beaten and thrown onto a galley. The captain of the galley knew her reputation and took pity on me. The next port we docked in, he dragged me to the army recruitment centre and helped me sign up. He probably saved my life.”

“A less scrupulous man would have sold you off as a slave,” Hermione muttered half to herself.

“I believe that was her hope,” Remus said.

“And you never spoke to him again?” Hermione asked.

“No,” Remus admitted.

“Are you still in love with him?” Hermione asked.

Remus sighed and leaned back in his seat. “You don’t ask the easy questions, do you? I think a part of me will always love him. He was my first love—you don’t really forget that, do you?”

“No you don’t,” Hermione agreed with a slightly sad smile.

“You too?” Remus asked. When Hermione shrugged he poked her. “Come on, tell me. You made me confess all my dark secrets. It’s your turn.”

“My mother was a priestess of Isis, and my father was the librarian at Alexandria,” Hermione began slowly. Remus gave her a warm smile and took one of her hands in his. “I had a charmed childhood, really. I played in the Iseum with the other children of the priestesses. My father took me with him into the scriptorium and had me learn with the other scribes. No one ever told me no, and I was given endless hugs and pats for being such a sweet child.”

“But,” Remus prompted her when she paused. Sadness flickered over Hermione’s face and she gave him a weak smile.

“He had come to visit the governor of Alexandria who was, I think, some sort of distant cousin. I was friends with the governor’s son, and I met him at a feast. He was… he was beautiful. All golden lines and dark curls and brooding eyes. Very enticing to a maiden,” Hermione confided with a laugh for her younger self.

“What happened?” Remus asked her gently.

“I didn’t know it, but he was already heartbroken. He’d lost his one, true love, and he was trying to console himself by sleeping his way through Aegyptia,” Hermione sighed. “He was perfectly honest and truthful about what he wanted. He wasn’t the sort to lie or misrepresent himself,” Hermione rushed to assure him.

“You fell in love with him,” Remus guessed.

“Of course I did,” Hermione agreed. “If you had met him, all thoughts of your boyhood lover would be a distant memory.”

“You left Alexandria because of him?” Remus asked with a frown.

Hermione shrugged. “I thought perhaps I should see more of the empire, and it seemed best for me if I travelled for a while.”

“And now?” Remus pressed. Hermione turned her hand palm up and threaded her fingers with his.

“Now, I think that there is a certain Centurion in Londinium who makes me very glad that I chose to leave Alexandria,” Hermione whispered with a light flush on her cheeks.

“That’s good.” Remus smirked at her. “There is a certain priestess of Isis that makes me very glad that I was sent to Londinium.”

With soft laughter, and softer smiles, Hermione led Remus back toward the temple. She rented several rooms in a large building near the temple. They traded kisses in the moonlight until they parted with swollen lips and whispered promises to meet again.

 

* * *

 

 

“Centurion!” One of Remus’ soldiers stopped in front of him panting for breath. “It’s the Emperor, sir! He’s come!”

They had been expecting Hadrian’s arrival for months. Everything was as good as they might make it. If Hadrian was displeased… there was naught they could do now.

“Very well.” Remus nodded to his lieutenants, who ran off to muster the century. He tugged at his armour, shifting it slightly, and ran a hand over his head.

Waiting at the front of his century was never Remus’ favourite thing to do. One waited for what felt like hours as whoever it was slowly made their way toward you. Remus watched Hadrian stop and speak to several soldiers.

The world seemed to slide away from Remus when he noticed the entourage following along behind Hadrian. Standing there with a vaguely bored air was the reason that Remus was a Centurion. Even turned mostly away from Remus, he could recognize the patrician profile of Sirius Nigreus Stellatina. Everything seemed to freeze as Sirius turned toward him.

At first, Remus thought that his time as a soldier for Rome had perhaps scarred him too greatly for Sirius to recognize him. Maybe Sirius would walk right past him and Remus would be able to breathe again.

The exact moment that Sirius recognised him was immediately apparent. Subtlety had never been Sirius’ strong suit. His grey eyes widened in shock and he stared at Remus for the count of ten. Remus stared back at him. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, but his training kept him completely still and at attention. He darted a glance to the Emperor who, thank Mithra, was nodding and speaking to one of the Generals that trailed along after him.

It wasn’t until after Hadrian had left with his entourage following that Remus was able to breathe again. Twenty years had passed since the last time he had seen Sirius Nigreus Stellatina. Back then, Remus had been young and lithe and had only had a few scars from the time he’d been mauled by a wolf when his father had dragged him along on a trip to Germania. Now… now he was old and grey and covered in scars, even if Hermione—

Remus froze. _Hermione_. Even if Sirius wanted to, which Remus knew was utterly ridiculous, but even Sirius was interested in something… there was Hermione to consider. He had been carefully courting her for months. They didn’t have an understanding—they were still feeling each other out. Remus doubted that their relationship would survive a fuck for old times’ sake.

“Remus?”

All at once, his throat went dry and his palms were sweaty. He might as well be a stripling youth once again. He rubbed his palms against his uniform and turned to face his past.

“Sirius,” Remus replied.

“How did you… I thought you were dead,” Sirius whispered. Remus grimaced.

“I suppose I should be. That was your Mater’s plan, I believe,” Remus said.

“But you’re here,” Sirius continued in a tone of wonder. He grinned at Remus. “You’re _here_.”

“Listen, Sirius, we should—” Remus began only to have Sirius interrupt him.

“Mater’s dead,” Sirius blurted out. He paused and grimaced. “Pater too, actually. I’m the paterfamilias. No one can tell me what I can and can’t do, anymore.”

“There’s someone else.” Remus flushed after getting the words out. Sirius grinned at him.

“Good,” Sirius said with a little nod. “I’m glad. I mean, Jupiter’s beard, it’s been twenty years.”

“It took me a long time to get over you,” Remus said with a frown. “In fact, I don’t know that I’ll ever actually get over you.”

“Yeah?” Sirius wrapped his cape about him a little tighter. “I’m kind of glad. I would have felt like a right idiot for mooning over you for so many years.”

“Did you get married?” Remus asked curiously.

At this, Sirius grimaced. “No, I was an idiot about that. I spent so many years being angry about what I didn’t have that I… I walked away from something I shouldn’t have.”

“That sounds… complicated,” Remus said after a moment.

“It is… erm, was,” Sirius agreed with a shrug. He shook his head and offered Remus a faint smile. “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

“Sirius,” Remus protested. Sirius held up his hands in supplication.

“I’m not expecting anything more than dinner and conversation,” Sirius told him. “I would love more than that, but you’ve made yourself very clear.”

“I… dinner and conversation sounds great,” Remus admitted.

No matter what else might happen in his life, Sirius would always be his first love. There was a small part of his heart that would always be a little raw and a little tender whenever Remus was faced with Sirius Nigreus Stellatina.

“Perfect,” Sirius said with a nod.

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Iseum was usually a place of calm and peace for Hermione. She revelled in the gentle murmur of its day-to-day life. Hadrian’s arrival in Londinium had altered all of that. The jangle of sistrums and the rise and fall of prayersong seemed to increase in pitch until Hermione was driven to the complete stillness of the scriptorium.

“Priestess, there is a patrician who would like to make a donation to the scriptorium,” one of the novitiates murmured as she bowed deeply.

“The High Priestess usually—” Hermione paused only to stop herself. “No, wait. She is visiting with Hadrian at the governor’s palace.” She sighed. “Is Priestess Severina available?”

“No, Priestess,” the novitiate said with a shake of her head. “Priestess Severina is not currently in the temple.”

“Very well,” Hermione huffed. She hated dealing with the donors and supporters of the temple.

The average temple goer who wanted to offer a jar of olive oil or a honeycomb was one thing. It was a simple donation. One could thank the person and offer to say a prayer or two on their behalf to their Lady. The large donors on the other hand, were a different matter. Upon occasion, the demands in return for a large donation almost made it worth it to go without. Patricians tended to be the worst of the lot.

The novitiate led the way out of the scriptorium and toward the unnamed donor. Hermione could only imagine that the person was kept in the public area of the temple, perhaps in one of the rooms the High Priestess used to greet guests such as the Priesthood of Serapis.

The smaller guest room had several low couches with nearby tables. Hermione spotted the patrician immediately, laying languidly on one of the couches, the small table in front of him holding a plate of flat bread and a cup of the local ale.

“Sirius,” Hermione whispered.

The table wobbled precariously, but Sirius’ quick reflexes kept the ale from spilling and the table from tipping. He jumped to his feet and stared at Hermione in shocked surprise. It was obvious that Sirius had not known of her presence in the Iseum of Londinium.

“Hermione.”

“What are you doing here?” Hermione wanted to close her eyes and sink into the ground as soon as the words left her mouth.

“I’m traveling with Hadrian’s retinue,” Sirius explained. He gave her faint smile. “Every place we’ve stopped I’ve made donations to the local Iseum.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Hermione muttered and averted her eyes.

“I made a mistake,” Sirius confessed. He took a step forward. “Hermione, I—”

“Stop,” Hermione commanded with an outstretched hand. “Just… stop. You made your decision.”

“I knew the moment I left Alexandria,” Sirius continued doggedly. He ran a hand over his face. “But even if I hadn’t known then… Hermione, he’s here. He’s here and he’s moved on. Found someone else.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Hermione replied. “But… Sirius, I’m not certain what that has to do with me.”

“Hermione,” Sirius sighed. He shook his head and a bitter laugh escaped him. “Have you ever felt as though you’re just…? I don’t know… doing it all wrong? I’ve been in love with two people in my life, and I can’t be with either one of them.”

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione demanded incredulously.

_He_ had been the one to leave. Their relationship had only ever been casual. They had agreed beforehand that it wouldn’t be forever. Hermione had known going in that Sirius had nothing to give her beyond the pleasure of the moment. It had been her own fault that she had fallen for him anyway. Alexandria had gone from being her home to being filled with memories that made her chest ache and her breath catch in her throat.

“I know!” Sirius burst out. “I know what I said, but I was wrong. I love you.”

“Hermione? The novitiate said that you were in here?” Remus called out as he entered the room. He paused in the doorway. “Sirius?”

“Remus?” Sirius’ voice rose in agitation. He looked between them. “Fucking hell.”

“What?” Remus turned to Hermione. “What’s going on?”

“Apparently a farce,” Hermione muttered with a scowl. “I suppose that makes me the _meretrix_ and you the _miles gloriosus_. Should I be offended on my Lady’s behalf?”

“What?” Remus turned to Sirius who had sunk down to sit on his couch and had put his face in his hands. “Sirius, why are you here?”

“I always donate to the local Iseum, wherever I am,” Sirius explained through his fingers.

“Because of me, apparently,” Hermione added with a roll of her eyes.

“So you two are seeing one another,” Sirius said with a bright, patently-false smile. “Because of course you are.”

“She’s beautiful and intelligent and is willing to listen to me drone on about Pythagoras,” Remus retorted. He gestured to Hermione. “Why wouldn’t I want to be her lover?”

“Remus is kind and sweet, and he’s willing to argue with me about the Empire’s policies,” Hermione replied with a fond smile for Remus.

“But what about me?” Sirius demanded.

“What about you?” Remus countered. He crossed his arms over his chest and quirked an eyebrow at Sirius.

“You can’t just leave me out!” Sirius protested. “It’s… it’s not fair or something.”

“The Empire is hardly ever fair,” Hermione replied with a snort.

“But—I love you both!” Sirius reminded them.

“And we love you,” Hermione admitted with a shrug.

“Well! Don’t you think we could, I don’t know, work something out?” Sirius demanded.

“Like what?” Remus asked with a confused frown.

“Some kind of… you let me date you both, too, sort of a… thing,” Sirius trailed off helplessly. “I don’t know. I just… I found you both again, and I don’t want to walk away again.”

“You didn’t exactly walk away from me,” Remus reminded him. “Your mother tried to have me sold into slavery.”

“I need to try,” Sirius confessed. He turned to Hermione. “Can we try?”

“I…,” Hermione trailed off and stood there thinking about what Sirius was suggesting. Could they try to fit Sirius into the broken cracks they both had? Would it even work? Was it possible?

In Alexandria, there had been a priestess who had three regular lovers and she seemed to manage just fine. It probably helped that one of them was in the navy and one of them was a sea-merchant so they were gone from Alexandria for months at a time. Still… the idea wasn’t too farfetched. Priestesses would often have more than one lover. Hermione had never really attempted it because the scriptorium took so much of her attention.

“Hermione,” Remus murmured and took her fingers between his. “If you’re willing…”

“I am not _un_ willing,” she said slowly. “It’s just that… it’s you and it’s Sirius. He and you… how can I compete with _that_?”

“That was twenty years ago,” Remus scoffed. “We were little more than children. He doesn’t even know who I am anymore. But you… he knows exactly who you are, and he loves _you_.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sirius argued from his couch. “Could be _forty_ years. You could be riddled with arthritis and flatulence, and I’d still love you, you fathead.”

Startled laughter burst forth from Remus and Hermione.

“When he’s so smooth and urbane like that… how can we resist?” Hermione asked between spates of giggles.

“How indeed?” Remus rolled his eyes.

“Is that a yes?” Sirius demanded. “That’s a yes, right?”

“Yes, you fathead. It’s a yes,” Remus replied. He turned to Hermione. “Right?”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed. She turned to Sirius and smiled. “It’s a yes.”

 

 

 


	6. Gnothi Sutrum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An accident leaves Harmony Wilkins stranded in Australia with no memory of who she is. A series of clues make her question the identity she's been given, and she decides to dig deeper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Week #6 Prompt: “A Story About Finding Something that has been Lost”
> 
> Because I’ve never done the Amnesiac!Hermione trope.
> 
> Right. So. This difficult to write in a small one-shot. In this story, Hermione is doing her best to find something that has been lost, but there are a few stumbling blocks in the way. Oops?
> 
> I’m breaking my own self-imposed rule. Next week will be the resolution/conclusion to this tale.

  
Before she even opened her eyes, she knew she was in hospital. She wasn’t certain if it was the smell of antiseptic, or the tightly tucked crisp sheets, or the soft beeps of the machinery, but somehow she knew. She blinked slowly, reflexively cringing away from the bright lights overhead.

There was no one in the room except for her. Across the room, she could see another bed ready to receive its patient, but it was currently empty. She tried to examine herself, to try and determine what her condition might be. What had happened to her? Had she been in some sort of accident?

Bandages were wrapped carefully about her left arm, and it was secured to her chest. She tried to shift in the bed and stopped almost immediately. Her left leg ached in a way that told her she was on some excellent medication. All right then, she had apparently been in some kind of accident.

“Ah, you’re awake,” a calm, no-nonsense voice declared. A nurse entered the room and moved toward her. “Let’s just take your vitals and see where you’re at.”

“M-my vitals?” She asked.

“Your blood pressure, heart rate, temperature,” the nurse rattled off. She paused and smiled. “Won’t take but a moment, dear.”

She sat as still as she could while the nurse moved about her. When the nurse tilted her right arm to take her blood pressure, she gasped in horror. Carved into her arm were letters. M-U-D-B-L-O-O-D. What on earth was a mudblood?

“Where did that come from?” She demanded. Her voice rose and it sounded a bit panicky even to her own ears.

“You came it with that, dear,” the nurse tried to soothe her. “It’s a nasty bit of work, but it’s been there for years as near as we can tell. We ignored your older injuries. It was your arm and leg that worried us.”

“Older injuries?” Her voice was definitely panicky now.

“There, there, it’s all right,” the nurse told her. “You’re safe and sound at Broome Hospital.”

“What happened to my arm and leg?” She asked worriedly.

“You were in an accident, dear,” the nurse explained. “Some drunk tourist hit you with his car. From all the reports, you were actually sitting at an outdoor café. He plowed right up onto the sidewalk and ended pinning you against the café.”

“Merlin’s pants!” She exclaimed.

“Merlin’s pants?” The nurse repeated with a little laugh. “That’s a funny sort of phrase. Is that some kind of British slang?”

“I… I don’t know,” she admitted. She frowned to herself. “I don’t know why I said that.” She turned to the nurse. “British slang? Am I British?”

“Yes, dear. All your papers say you’re British, and even if you didn’t have any, that accent would give you away,” the nurse said. She patted her on her good leg. “Why don’t you rest a moment, and I’ll have Doctor come in, shall I?”

“Wait!” She called out. The nurse paused by the door and looked back at her. “Who am I?”

The nurse’s lips tightened and she shook her head. “Let me just go grab the doctor.”

 

* * *

 

 

“My name is Harmony Wilkins,” she said slowly whilst staring at herself in the bathroom mirror.

Harmony Wilkins looked back at her, clearly unimpressed. Her hair sprung out about her face wildly in a riot of tawny-brown curls. Her face appeared wan and pale and there were dark circles under her eyes. She squinted at the stranger in the mirror. The stranger looking back appeared tired. The bandage taped to her forehead didn’t help.

“My name is Harmony Wilkins,” she tried again.

There was a loud clatter from the room beyond and she whirled quickly, flinging her right arm out in front of her, her fingers curled as though she were gripping… _something_ in her hand.

“Hello?” She called sharply. “Who’s there?”

Cautiously, she crept out to the bedroom that she assumed must be hers. A quick peek about the bedroom revealed that a photo frame on her nightstand had fallen over. With a sigh, she moved toward the nightstand.

The hospital had given her everything that had been on her person when she had been brought into the hospital. A purse that contained a UK passport, a wallet with some Australian bills, a tube of lip balm, a small pot of some sort of orange paste-like substance, and a little coin purse that held far more than it ought to have judging by its outside appearance.

There had been a set of keys and an address written in a neat, tidy hand. The address had led to a small, utilitarian flat that didn’t seem to have any sort of decoration aside from a couple of bland prints that she disliked on sight. She couldn’t imagine living in this flat, and she had no idea why Harmony Wilkins had chosen it.

Carefully, she picked up the photo frame and turned it over. Two smiling adults looked up at her through cracked glass. Something muted and distant stirred in her chest. Monica and Wendell Wilkins shouldn’t have cracked glass in their frame—even if she couldn’t really remember them.

According to the paperwork she’d found in a stack of neatly organized folders, they had passed away a couple of years ago, and Harmony hadn’t been able to come to Australia to handle their estate until now.

There was a small bin tucked under the nightstand. She pulled it out and flipped over the photo frame. She pushed the clamps to the side and pulled off the back so that she could remove the cracked glass. She glanced at the handwritten note on the back of the photo. _Simon and I in Nice_. She frowned at the writing and flipped the picture back over. She had been certain that the couple on the nightstand were her parents. There had been a brief moment of _recognition_ that the rest of the house hadn’t really given her.

“Who are you?” She muttered as she stared at the picture.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Going back to the UK before she had regained her memories seemed like a very bad idea, but there had been a feeling of relief when she let herself into her flat. The art on the walls and the decorations were far more appealing. There was a sense of comfort, of _belonging_ , that hadn’t been present in Australia.

Even better, she would have little flashes of memory when she picked up a cup or a book. There was a chunky mug that had _I’m a witch AND your wife_ printed it on it in bright letters.

_“Where on earth did you find this?” She asked._

_“Had it made,” a voice replied._

_“The best part is, it will work for the both of us,” another voice added._

_“You are both ridiculous,” she said with a laugh._

_“That’s why you love us,” the first voice said._

_She had shaken her head at that and thrown up her hands in defeat. “Merlin help me, I do,” she agreed._

Who was Merlin? She had wondered afterwards. Did she mean the wizard who helped Arthur? Or had she meant someone else? Who were the two men who had affectionately teased her? She couldn’t quite see their faces in the memory, no matter how much she wracked her brain.

Still, she had the strange sense that she hadn’t lived in this flat for some time. She wondered how long she had been in Australia. Had it been months? She had to have some kind of job, didn’t she? Maybe she had requested a leave from work? Maybe she didn’t have a job? None of those answers were quite right, and they left her feeling off kilter.

No one ever visited her at her little flat. She never received any sort of mail. Everyone received mail—even if it were just junk mail—but her mail box was empty day after day. She wondered idly if there was anyone out there that missed Harmony Wilkins. Maybe the two men who had gifted her with that joke mug in her kitchen?

 

* * *

 

 

“Isn’t there anything that you can do?” She asked with a small frown.

“I’m sorry, Miss Wilkins,” the doctor replied with a grave expression. “The human brain can be unpredictable, especially when it comes to amnesia. You have retained memory of fine and gross motor skills—you can read, walk, eat, etc. Yet you have no memory of your childhood, your time at school, any of that. It’s fascinating, really.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” she murmured.

The last thing she cared about was whether or not her case was _fascinating_. What she wanted was some kind of answer, or at least a notion of how to… to cure her.

“Miss Wilkins, you must understand,” here the doctor tried to assume a sympathetic face, “we cannot simply wave a magic wand and fix all of this.”

“I understand,” she replied.

There was that slight twinge, that strange feeling that came over her, whenever anyone casually mentioned magic or witches or wizards. A sort of sardonic amusement would steal over her every time, and she wasn’t quite sure why.

“Thank you for your time,” she murmured as she rose to her feet.

“Miss Wilkins,” the doctor said with a slight hesitation. “You are a very lucky young woman. From the medical reports that the doctors sent over from Broome Hospital make it quite clear that, well, you ought to have been killed in that accident. It’s a miracle that you weren’t.”

“I know, doctor,” she replied. “They explained everything to me once I woke.”

The doctor nodded. “There is also the fact that… if I may be blunt, Miss Wilkins, you don’t _have_ to work. You own your flat. You have the title to your parent’s home in Chelsea, which in today’s market could probably set you up for quite some time if you sold it. You have the luxury of taking the time you need to work on putting your life back together.”

“I understand how lucky I am, doctor,” she said in cool, crisp voice that seemed to bubble up out of her somewhere. She paused and tilted her head. “Do you think I will ever get used to being Miss Wilkins?”

“I’m not sure,” the doctor admitted with a shake of his head. “I am sorry. I wish there were something I could do.”

With a nod, she turned and left his office. The trip back to her flat on the tube seemed comforting, familiar, and the walk up to her flat felt like something she’d done a thousand times before. She opened the door and tossed her keys onto the little table by the door. There was a rightness and a sense of ritual to it all. _I’ve done this before_. She turned to look in the little mirror over the door.

“I’m Harmony Wilkins,” she tried again. The person in her mirror sighed and her shoulders slumped. “Whoever that is.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Maybe it was because the doctor mentioned it. Maybe it was because she had realized that, while this flat felt far more lived in and homely, there weren’t any pictures on the walls of her and any possible friends. She had a suspicion that if only she contacted _someone_ that had known Harmony Wilkins, she would be able to figure out who she had been, and who she still was.

The house in Chelsea felt even more familiar than her flat. She knew without even looking that there was a small garden in the back that her dad had fussed over on the weekends. She supposed that it was overgrown now. The key stuck in the door, but she finally got it to work.

Oddly enough, the house in Chelsea was similar to the house her parents had rented in Broome. There were pictures of them, but not of her. She stared at them for hours, but… nothing.

The attic was dusty, and there were neatly stacked boxes everywhere. She moved among them slowly, but unerringly toward the far corner. Those boxes seemed to be separated. As she neared she looked down at the top flap of one of the boxes. _Hermione Primary School._ She stared at it for a long moment.

_Hermione_.

“Hermione,” she said aloud in the quiet stillness of the attic.

That distant something in her chest shifted slightly.

“Hermione,” she tried again, tasting it on her tongue and letting it fill her mouth.

Cautiously, she lifted the flap and stared into the box. There was a pile of scrapbooks and a few painfully awkward-looking crafts. She lifted out one of the scrapbooks and flipped through it.

A small child with buckteeth and frizzy hair was standing in front of a building, clinging to the hand of a much-younger Monica Wilkins. She peered at the caption which read: _Hermione’s first day at kindergarten. I don’t know who was more terrified—Hermione or Barbara_.

There was another picture of the same little girl bent over a piano, her tiny fingers perched above the keys. _Our little virtuoso’s first lesson!_ Slowly, she flipped through the scrapbook. There was a picture of the three of them together, the little girl perched on Wendell Wilkins’ hip with a bright smile. _Hermione Granger, Kindergarten Graduate_ the caption read.

“Hermione Granger?” She whispered. The name felt so much more _right_ than Harmony Wilkins. She squinted at Wendell and Monica Wilkins. Or were they Simon and Barbara Granger?

Everything in these scrapbooks felt familiar. She stared at the pictures of her at her piano lessons and she remembered how much her fingers cramped and ached in the beginning. How her Mum had rubbed liniment in them and told her that anything worth doing would come with a price.

When and how had Hermione Granger become Harmony Wilkins? Why had they changed their name? Was it the same reason that her parents had moved to Australia, and had seemed to remove her from their life? Was it related to why she had been in a car accident in the first place? Worry and fear began to gnaw at her. Who was Hermione Granger?

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she murmured to herself.

Something settled in her chest.

“I’m Hermione Granger,” she announced to the room.

 


	7. An Ever Fixéd Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week #7 prompt "A story about a journey." As you know, this is part 2 of last week's story. I would remind you while every journey may cover distance, not all of them are physical.

The days that Sirius always loved best were the lazy days. Nowhere in particular that any of them needed to be. Nothing critically important that must be done. Just a day where he could loll in bed for as long as he wanted with one hand on Remus’ warm skin and one hand buried in Hermione’s curls. Eventually, one of them would drag him out of bed and force him to eat. If Remus was cooking it was probably pancakes, or maybe even a full fry up. Hermione usually grabbed something from the local bakery because cooking wasn’t her forte.

“Why now?” Remus asked, his breath puffing against Sirius’ shoulder. “Don’t you have that thing?”

“There’s always a thing,” Hermione replied with a sigh. She snorted when Sirius rubbed himself against her hip suggestively. “Stop it. You know what I meant.”

“Tell me what you meant, kitten,” he whispered in her ear.

She pinched him, and he squawked indignantly and flinched away from her, causing both Remus and Hermione to groan and sit up. She shoved her glorious curls out of her face and kicked the tangle of sheet free from her legs. She turned in the bed slightly so that she faced both of them. Sirius loved how comfortable she had become with them—how relaxed and certain she was of their regard.

“I mean that it never ends. There is always something that simply _must_ be dealt with, there’s always some big project or some new bit of legislation that is absolutely critical.” Here Hermione’s shoulders slumped a bit. “It’s been years and I keep just putting it off.”

“We’ll come with you,” Sirius decided.

“No.” Hermione countered with a shake of her head. She smiled fondly at Sirius and cupped his cheek with her hand. “I love you for the thought, but this is something I need to do by myself.”

“Dragonshite,” Remus protested. “We know this is going to be bloody awful for you. Let us come with you and help.”

“You just started your new position in the Werewolf Liaison Office,” Hermione reminded him. “You can’t ask for time off first thing out of the gate.”

“I’ll go then,” Sirius decided. He waggled his eyebrows and leered at Hermione dramatically. “You and I can have a romantic trip to… where are you going?”

“Broome,” Hermione replied. She wrinkled her nose at him and made a face. “And you can’t go. The Wizengamot just began their session and we need your vote on three different pieces of legislation.”

“Broome?” Remus repeated with raised eyebrows. “Is it a wizarding community?”

“No,” Hermione replied with a shake of her head. “Just a serendipitous coincidence.”

“Do you suppose your parents remembered something?” Remus asked thoughtfully. “Maybe something made them choose Broome?”

A soft, wistful smile played around Hermione’s lips. “That’s a nice thought,” she said. She leaned over Sirius to kiss Remus. “Thank you for that.”

“I can have nice thoughts!” Sirius protested as the kiss became slow and languid. Hermione and Remus broke apart to turn and look at him.

“Name one,” Remus suggested with a slight smirk.

“Well I can’t now,” Sirius protested. “You have to give me a minute.”

“How about you think on it and then tell me when I come back?” Hermione suggested with a little smile.

“You think I can’t do it, don’t you?” Sirius demanded. “I can! I can be just as sweet and romantic as Remus, damn it!”

“Of course you can,” Hermione agreed. She leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You can be very romantic when you put your mind to it.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sirius grumbled. Hermione smirked at him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now shift your lazy arse out of bed,” she commanded and shoved at his hip.

“Are you going to the bakery?” Remus asked as he pulled on a worn pair of jeans.

“Yes, and yes, I will pick up some pain au chocolat for you,” Hermione said as she tugged a jumper over her head.

“And some brioche?” Sirius asked. Hermione rolled her eyes at them.

“Yes, and brioche,” Hermione agreed.

“Perfect,” Sirius said with a happy sigh. He let himself fall back on his pillows and watched Hermione slap Remus’ hands out of the way and fix the buttons on his shirt.

Lazy days were the best.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Being with Hermione meant schedules for everything. Normally, that drove Sirius round the twist, but with her off in Australia, it was comforting. Every day at the same time, Hermione would Floo call them and let them know how everything was going. It was usually only for a few minutes, and once or twice she had warned them that she wouldn’t be able to Floo for a day for whatever reason, but she contacted them regularly.

_Everything’s coming along. I’ll call tomorrow. I love you both._

One night Hermione didn’t Floo. Sirius turned to Remus who was already frowning.

“We should go, right?” Sirius demanded. He waved a hand at the fireplace. “She never misses a night.”

“Maybe something happened,” Remus said slowly.

“So, we should go.” Sirius headed upstairs to grab a bag.

“We’ll have to get an International Portkey,” Remus reminded him.

“We’ll get one,” Sirius called back down the stairs.

“And we should let Harry know,” Remus hollered after him.

“You write him a note,” Sirius yelled back.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Point me spells were limited in scope. Sirius and Remus managed to track Hermione down to a café with a broken window. They frowned at the broken glass. Remus flagged down a waitress and gestured to the window.

“What happened there?” Remus asked.

“It was awful,” the waitress said with a shake of her head. “Some drunk driver lost control of their vehicle. Pinned a woman against the café. They were both taken to hospital.”

“Thank you,” Remus murmured and moved back to Sirius.

“The hospital?” Sirius asked, panic leeching into his voice. Remus’ hand was a steady weight on his shoulder.  

“We passed it on the way,” Remus replied. He swallowed, and his fingers flexed on Sirius’ shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m sure everything’s fine. She… she probably just needed to be checked out or something. It’s… it’s routine.”

“Right,” Sirius muttered. “Right. Just routine.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

The hospital was in an uproar. Doctors and nurses were racing back and forth. They heard snatches of conversation here and there about some kind of accident, but they weren’t sure if it was the accident from the café or something different. Finally, Sirius had had enough. He pulled a small vial out of his pocket.

“What is that?” Remus demanded in a whisper.

“Veritasserum,” Sirius told him with a shrug.

“What?” Remus glared at Sirius. “You can’t give that to Muggles!” He threw his hands in the air. “Do you carry stuff like that around all the time?”

“It won’t hurt them,” Sirius protested. “Just a drop in the receptionist’s coffee, and we’ll find Hermione.”

Remus tried to protest again, but Sirius was already headed to the counter. _It’s for Hermione_ , Moony whispered in the back of his mind. Remus sighed and followed Sirius.

“Hermione?” Sirius was already asking. “Hermione Granger?”

“We don’t have a Hermione Granger in the system,” the receptionist said with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry.”

“She was in a drunk driving accident yesterday,” Remus said with a small frown. “They said that they brought her here.”

“Oh.” The receptionist’s face fell.

“What?” Sirius’ voice rose, and Remus hushed him.

“It’s just… she died,” the receptionist whispered across the desk. “I’m sorry. Was she a friend of yours?”

“You could say that,” Remus replied on auto pilot. He grabbed Sirius and tried pulling him away from the desk.

“What do you mean, _died_ ,” Sirius demanded.

“The injuries were too severe for our tiny hospital,” the receptionist explained, still under the effects of the Veritasserum. “She was transferred out by helicopter yesterday, but she died en route.”

“No,” Sirius protested.

“Sirius,” Remus whispered. His fingers dug into Sirius’ arm. “Come on.”

“No.” Sirius shook his head and turned to stare at Remus. “ _No_. It’s a mistake. It has to be.”

“Sirius.” Remus was clinging to him now. He wasn’t sure if Sirius was shaking or if he was. Maybe they both were.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“I think I’m going mad,” Remus said in a careful, controlled voice.

Sirius looked up from the kitchen table and peered blearily at him.

“What?” His voice cracked from disuse.

“I…,” Remus paused and stared at the wall. Then he shook his head and set a familiar box on the table. “It’s nothing.”

“What?” Sirius asked. He pulled the box toward him and opened it.

Sitting in the tissue paper was a pain au chocolat, a brioche, and one pain au raisins. Sirius swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and pushed the box away.

“I… I _smelled_ her. At the bakery,” Remus added as an afterthought. He grimaced at the box. “Sorry about that. I just… I smelled her and then I ordered on autopilot.”

“The full moon’s tomorrow,” Sirius reminded him.

Remus rolled his eyes. “I bloody well know when the full moon is,” he snapped.

“Is this denial, or something?” Sirius asked. He frowned at the box on the table. “I thought we’d done that part already.”

“We did,” Remus agreed. “Followed quickly by the anger. I don’t know that Grimmauld Place will ever recover. Your mother’s portrait certainly won’t.”

“If she’d kept her fucking mouth shut about Hermione it wouldn’t have happened,” Sirius growled.

“Probably not her smartest move,” Remus agreed. He turned to Sirius. “So? Do you think I’m going mad?”

“You’ve never smelled any sort of phantom smell before, have you?” Sirius asked.

“No,” Remus replied.

Sirius frowned. “I don’t think you’re going mad,” he said slowly.

“Thanks. You’re such a comfort,” Remus huffed.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Excuse me.”

Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Sirius swung around in surprise. Most people left him alone these days. His jaw dropped, and he stared. Standing in front of him was Hermione. There was a new, shiny pink scar along her temple. She was staring up at him with an expression of concentration. He supposed that he ought to be stunned, or maybe shocked, but Moony’s nose was never wrong.

“I do beg your pardon, but… do I know you?” She asked with a little frown. “It’s just… you look familiar, I think.”

“Hermione,” he breathed, and she beamed at him.

“You do know me!” She gave a relieved little laugh. “I’ve noticed you in the neighbourhood, and you seemed so familiar, and I didn’t know how to walk up to someone and say, ‘Pardon me, but I’ve lost my memory’.”

“What?” Sirius’ voice rose.

“I was in an accident,” she began, and Sirius shook his head cutting her off.

“They told us you’d _died_ ,” he interrupted her fiercely.

“Died?” Hermione repeated and blinked at him.

“Yeah, at Broome Hospital,” he snarled at her.

“But… I didn’t die,” she protested. “I just… I had amnesia. I’ve gotten little bits and pieces back. I figured out that my name is Hermione Granger and not Harmony Wilkins, but… there are still rather large gaps.”

“Harmony Wilkins?” He repeated incredulously. “ _Harmony Wilkins_?”

“Look,” she said in a hesitant voice and backed up a step. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… maybe I should go.”

“Upset me?” Sirius could hear the hysterical edge in his voice. “We thought you were _dead_!”

“I’m sorry about that,” she said as she took another step back. Sirius reached out and caught her wrist. She stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Please,” he begged. “You’re my wife. They told me you’d died. I know I probably sound like a raving nutter, I just… please don’t go.” He shook his head. “Fuck, I’m no good at this.”

A small frown flickered over her face. “I’m married to you?” She asked.

Sirius frowned back. “Yeah. Well… yeah.”

She took a step closer. “Are you… do you…” She waggled her eyebrows at him and scrunched her nose. It seemed as though she were trying to say something but couldn’t figure out how to go about it.

“What?” He blinked at her.

“Can you… erm,” she hesitated and bit her lip.

“Maybe we should go see Remus,” he suggested after a moment. He knew he was fucking this up, and if Hermione left again he didn’t know if he could survive it.

“My other husband?” She asked tentatively.

Sirius tilted his head. “Well… yeah.”

“Oh.” She blinked at that. “So… so the mug was right?” She appeared to relax at that and she smiled at him in relief.

“The mug?” Sirius frowned at her for a moment and then he blinked in realization. “Is that where you’ve been this whole time? At your old flat?”

All the times Remus had hesitantly suggested that they should go pack up Hermione’s old flat flooded back to him. His pain and his rage at losing Hermione had been so great that he had been afraid to go to her old place. He never would have forgiven himself for destroying her things.

If only he had agreed any of the times that Moony had suggested it. If only they had gone over there. They could have found her ages ago. Hermione stared up at him with wide eyes.

“You yelled at me about that before,” she murmured half to herself. “There was something… work?”

“A big case before the Wizengamot,” Sirius said. He made a face at the memory. “You said you needed space to work.”

“And you said that I needed to take a break before I burned myself out,” Hermione added with an intense look of concentration.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“And Remus… is he the one that made me tea and toast?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah,” Sirius whispered, still stunned by the fact that Hermione—a very much alive Hermione—was standing on the street in front of him.

“I’ve missed you,” Hermione sighed. She gave him a half-smile. “I mean, I didn’t know who you were, but I would get these little snatches of memory. Part of a conversation, or a glimpse of something. Enough to know there was something missing. Something not there that should be.”

“Merlin, we’ve missed you too, Hermione,” Sirius admitted. He swallowed hard. “So much.”

 

* * *

 

 

The curious tilt as Hermione studied him was almost enough to undo him. She was his wife, their wife. She _knew_ every inch of him. She had traced every scar with her fingers and her tongue. She had argued with him, shouted at him, held him while he cried, cared for him after a full moon. There were no secrets among the three of them. Their shared history had made sure of that.

“You like chocolate more than you should,” she said slowly as though she wasn’t sure if the words were right. “You…”

Hermione stood up and walked toward the bookcase. Her fingers traced the spines until she came to one particular volume. She pulled it out and opened it. Laying inside the faux-book was a large bar of Honeydukes’ chocolate. She picked it up and stared at it for a moment before she turned back to him.

“You hide chocolate all over the house.” Her tone was faintly scandalized, and she looked surprised that she had been right.

“I do,” he agreed. He could feel his face heat with embarrassment and ignored Sirius’ snicker.

“I…” She stared at the both of them for a moment. “I really loved you both, didn’t I?” Her tone was almost wondering.

“You did,” he managed to get out. Moony did not care for her use of the past tense at all, and it took everything he had to ignore the snarl of _mine_ and _ours_ that echoed in his skull.

“And is that…” Here she paused again and looked from Sirius back to him. “Is that normal among…”

“Witches and wizards?” Sirius asked drily.

She nodded. “Is it?”

“It’s not common,” Sirius replied with a shrug. “It does happen, and when it does it isn’t considered shameful or perverted. Not like it is with Muggles.”

“It has to do with our magic,” Remus added. “The three of us, our magic is very… compatible.” Sirius snorted in amusement.

“That’s one way of putting it,” he muttered. Remus glared at him.

“It’s legal,” Remus said with a sigh. “You are legally married to the both of us.”

“This is going to sound so odd,” Hermione muttered. She sighed and turned to Remus. “Can I… can I hug you?”

Mutely, he held his arms open to her. She stepped into his personal space and he fought the urge to bury his face in her hair and breathe in her scent. Her slender arms wrapped around him and he cautiously hugged her back. He closed his eyes, savouring the moment for as long as he could. When he opened his eyes, Sirius was blinking back tears and grinning at him. Her arms tightened on him for just a moment before she released him and stepped back.

When she turned to Sirius, he already had his arms out and a hopeful expression on his face. She tilted her head at him—that odd, trying to feel her way through this strange situation look on her face. But then she shook her head and hugged Sirius anyway. Hermione put her head on Sirius’ shoulder and sighed.

“This is nice,” she said softly.

“It is,” Sirius agreed just as softly.

“We did this a lot, didn’t we?” Hermione asked.

“Hugs?” Sirius asked. “I guess so, yeah. Cuddling in bed, too.”

Remus could see Hermione’s cheeks darken, and she pulled away from Sirius.

“I… that stands to reason,” she admitted. She turned to look at Remus. “It’s so strange. I’m jealous of… me. How do I get that back? How do I get what she had?”

“You already have it,” Sirius told her in a gentle voice. He reached out and tweaked a stray curl. “For better or worse, in sickness and in health.”

“It can’t be that simple,” Hermione protested.

“It can be as simple as you need it to be,” Remus offered. “If you… if you need to stay in your old flat, we could… I don’t know. We could come visit. You could come here. Whatever you need so that you’re comfortable.”

A soft, slow smile curved her lips. “No wonder I chose you both,” she murmured half to herself.

 


	8. With a Lion's Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week #8 Prompt-- A story set during a war.
> 
> I've done Siremione during the war-ish. (See Yuanfen. Or Kitten.) I decided to do a *different* war, and ended up choosing Grindelwald/WWII. This kept getting really dark. I've re-written this five times, and ended up just doing this brief snippet.

_Durmstrang_

_April 1933_

“Aleksandar,” Hermione called as she hurried down the hall.  

A tall young man stopped and turned, his cape swirling around his knees. Surprise flickered over his features before a neutral mask slid into place. He glanced down the hall behind her and then looked at her directly.

“Germiona.” He acknowledged her with a slight nod. “You are well?”

“No, I’m not,” Hermione huffed at him. She glanced around and then moved to an empty classroom. Aleksandar followed her with a small frown.

“It is not seemly for us to be alone,” Aleksandar muttered to her as he slipped into the room behind her. “Nadezhda will not like it.”

“I would rather your betrothed didn’t know about this at all,” Hermione retorted. She made a face and wrinkled her nose. “Her family supports Grindelwald.”

“Nadezhda is not like that,” Aleksandar protested. “She thinks it is wrong, what they are doing.”

“Does she?” Hermione asked drily. “Is she willing to help?”

Aleksandar flushed and averted his gaze. “She listens, and she passes on what she hears.”

“Has she heard about Dachau?” Hermione demanded.

“Dachau?” Aleksandar repeated the unfamiliar name slowly.

“They’ve opened a concentration camp,” Hermione continued angry spots of color on her cheeks. “In Dachau.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Aleksandar whispered. He swallowed hard. “Muggleborns?”

“Along with different groups of Muggles,” she replied. Her face crumpled and her bottom lip trembled.

“The Jews,” Aleksandar sighed.

Even in Durmstrang, they had seen the shifts in the political landscape.

“Also the Roma, some religious sect, political enemies, homesexuals… ” Hermione added. She rubbed her hands over her face. “Undesirables.”

“Baba Yaga’s chicken feet,” Aleksandar growled.

“We have to do something.” Hermione wrung her hands. “We can’t just… we have to _do_ something.”

“We are doing something,” Aleksandar reminded her.

“Not enough,” Hermione hissed.

Aleksandar pinched the bridge of his nose. “We will do what we can to help them.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Berlin_

_September 1936_

Frantic pounding on one’s door in the middle of the night was never a good thing. Hermione jerked awake with a gasp and lay in her bed with one hand pressed against her racing heart. She slipped out of bed and grabbed her dressing gown which she’d tossed over a chair. Belting it around her waist, Hermione hurried to the door.

Who knew who might be on the other side of the door? Usually, those she helped would slip her a note during the day. Someone would catch her eye and then give a series of hand signals. Or someone would slip her a note with a particular pass phrase. If it were Grindelwald’s shock troops or Hitler’s brown shirts, well, she could only hope that what she had been able to do in the time she had had would be enough. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she turned the doorknob and pulled the door open.

“Frau Krum?”

The two men standing on her doorstep were unfamiliar. They both looked uncomfortable, but that could be for any number of reasons. She frowned at them.

“Ja?” She cocked her head to the side and waited to see who they were.

“Hermione Krum?” One of them asked with a slight grimace as he said the words.

“Ja. Ich bin Hermione Krum,” she agreed cautiously.

“Could we come in?” The other asked in English. Hermione frowned at the both of them and peered down the hall.

“Who are you?” She hissed in English.

The first man sighed and they pushed into her apartment, the one who had spoken in English shutting her door behind him. Hermione squawked indignantly when the first man put his hand over her mouth. She tried to struggle, but the one who had spoken English cleared his throat.

“Look, Hermione,” he tried only to stop when the other man yelped when Hermione bit him.

“It’s us!”  The one who had spoken English hissed furiously.

“Us?” Hermione repeated him and frowned at them. “Us who?”

At that moment, both men began to… _ripple_ as their features changed. Once they were done, Sirius and Remus were standing in front of her. With a cry of surprise and relief, she flung herself into their arms. Grabbing Remus by the lapels of his oversized coat, she pulled him down so that she could kiss him enthusiastically. Remus pulled back to frown at her.

“Krum?” He demanded. “Really?”

“I certainly couldn’t use Granger,” she whispered and swatted him on the chest. “Keep your voice down. You never know who’s listening.” She pulled back to stare at them. “How did you get here?”

“Research,” Sirius bit out between clenched teeth. He pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair. “You were _missing_.”

“What the bloody hell have you been doing?” Remus asked with a dark scowl. “You look like shite warmed over.”

“Charming,” Hermione huffed. “I’ve been helping.”

“Of course you have,” Remus sighed. Sirius clapped his hands.

“We can visit once we get her back home. Come on, Hermione, let’s go,” Sirius said with false cheer.

Hermione pulled back from the both of them with a frown. “I can’t leave,” she protested.

“Sure you can,” Sirius countered. “We did all the research. We figured out how to get you home.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Hermione protested. “I’ve got a group that I’m sneaking out today. We’ve already forged papers for them.”

“Someone else could lead them,” Sirius suggested.

“No,” Hermione whispered. She shook her head and looked to Remus. “They’ve already started the camps you know. They trust me. I can’t just turn my back on them.”

“Hermione.” Remus reached out and brushed a curl back from her forehead. She stared up at him with her wide, brown eyes and he sighed. He never could say no to her.

“This is too dangerous for you,” Sirius protested with a worried frown.

“I’ve _been_ doing this for three years, Sirius,” Hermione countered with a shake of her head. “Just… one last time.”

“One last time,” Remus agreed quietly.

“Fine,” Sirius sighed. “One last time.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said with a small smile.

 

 

 

 


	9. Mid Pleasures and Palaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Week #9 prompt: “write a creepy story”. I have some hard and fast squicks, and so I tried to write something that didn’t hit any of them. This is what you get.

 

 

The interloper was finally gone, and the house sighed deeply in satisfaction. The house would rather sit empty than have those that did not belong within their walls. The portrait in the hall muttered to itself, but the house ignored it. _That one_ had been tolerated by the house at best. After she had destroyed their family? Their _bloodline_? The house had taken great satisfaction in making _that one_ suffer. Death had claimed her far too soon, in the house’s opinion.

For several years, the house had their wish. They sat empty and alone without even the company of a slightly crazed House Elf. Then one day, _she_ returned. From the first time she had entered the house, as a schoolgirl, they had known that she belonged—that she was theirs.

The magic of the Black family had leeched into the walls over the generations, giving them a sentience and a personality not dissimilar to other magically imbued locations. Unlike some self-important piles of stone, the house had never moved staircases at will, but they watched over the occupants all the same. The house could trace the lines of Black Family magic within their walls. It was easy to trace the magical threads that connected _her_ to the Scion and his consort.

The house had felt the Scion pass beyond the Veil, and later the consort had gone as well, but _she_ remained.

 _Ours_ , the walls murmured as she walked through their halls.

 _Ours_ , the balustrade sighed as she trailed her fingers over it.

 _Ours_ , the house agreed.

“Harry says that you pushed him out,” she said quietly. She paused and tilted her head to the side. “Is that true?”

 _The interloper did not belong,_ grumbled the hardwood floors.

Silently, she moved to the hall and pulled back the curtains that covered _that one’s_ portrait. _That one_ sat sullenly in her frame, aware of the quiet menace that the house was threatening.

“Were you responsible?” She asked.

“No,” the portrait muttered. Surprise flickered over her face.

“No insults?” She asked.

“Stupid girl,” the portrait snapped and turned its face away from her.

“Hardly a girl,” she countered with a snort. “I never would have guessed that a few years would mellow you. Is it the absence of Kreacher?”

The portrait wisely kept its mouth shut. Eventually, she sighed and closed the curtains on the portrait. The house watched as she wandered through their halls, her fingers brushing against the wallpaper or tracing the wainscoting.

“You were beautiful once, weren’t you?” She murmured to herself.

The house preened at the compliment.

That night while she slept, the house gave her dreams of its youth.

 

* * *

 

 

_They used to have balls once. Every year, the invitations to their balls were the most sought after, the most coveted. Every piece of crystal sparkled. Every gilt surface gleamed. Beautiful women and handsome men circulated around one another in an age-old dance of flirtation and seduction in their hallowed halls and across their well-buffed dance floor._

_As Hermione walked by a mirror she paused to look at herself. Gone were the ratty jeans and the over-sized sweater. In its place was a stunning set of dress robes in gold silk. Sparkling rubies dripped from her ears and encircled her throat. Riotous curls were pinned up, and phoenix feathers curled about her head giving off little sparks when she moved._

_“There you are, my lady,” a half-remembered voice purred in her ear. She turned to see a wizard standing next to her._

_A flash of white teeth against swarthy skin and he was bowing over her hand. With the skill of long practice, he undid the button of her glove and stroked the bare skin of her wrist. She fought to control the shiver that shot down her spine._

_“Do I know you?” She asked before she could help herself._

_The wizard straightened and his stormy grey eyes flashed with hurt. Thick, curly black hair was pulled back from his face into a queue. He was wearing a riotously scarlet frock coat with a waistcoat that depicted a brilliantly embroidered phoenix. Hermione stared at his tight breeches and the hose that clung to his calves._

_“Are you still angry with me?” He sighed. “It was a joke. I had no idea that you were going to be the first person to visit Cousin Ella.”_

_“Hermione, don’t you dare let this cad put a single entry on your dance card,” Another voice countered. “Make sure you put Remus Lupin down for every dance.”_

_“Remus?” Hermione turned to see someone who didn’t quite look like the Remus she knew._

_The new wizard’s sandy hair was also in a queue, but his frock coat was slightly less eye-watering than the first wizard’s. Hermione squinted up at him, searching for some bit of him that would show that he was Remus Lupin. He had the same eyes, she realized, a soft mossy green. The chin was the same, as was the high forehead. There was a vague semblance to the wizard she’d known._

_Considering the environs, Hermione wondered if this man might be an ancestor of her Remus. Hermione froze for a moment. Her Remus? Surely not._

_“Hermione?” The first wizard said with a worried frown._

_“Perhaps she needs some punch,” Remus suggested. “Sirius, why don’t you help her to one of the chairs. I’ll go fetch some punch.”_

_“Sirius?” Hermione said in surprise and looked to the first wizard._

_“If you’ll take my arm, my lady?” Sirius held out his arm solicitously._

_“Is it really you?” She whispered and reached out to touch his cheek._

_Carefully, Sirius caught her gloved fingers. “My lady, do take care,” he told her gravely. “You’ll set more than one tongue wagging if you aren’t careful.”_

_“What are you doing here?” She asked as he led her to a chair and bid her sit. He laughed and shook his head at her._

_“This is my house, my lady. Where else would I be on the night of the Samhain Ball? My mother would have my guts for garters if I tried to sneak out,” he explained._

_At that moment, Remus returned with a glass of punch which he handed over with an elegant bow._

_“Here you are, my lady,” he said with a cheeky grin._

_“I’m so confused,” Hermione said slowly. She looked up at both wizards. “What are you doing here?”_

_“I believe it’s referred to as dancing in attendance,” Remus offered with a raised eyebrow. “The general idea is that one day you’ll take pity on us and accept our suit.”_

_“I… what?” Hermione blinked up at them._

_“For now, we’re willing to make do with a dance each,” Sirius added._

_The rest of the night passed in a flurry of dancing and teasing and flirting with people who almost looked like people she should know._

* * *

 

 

The next day, she moved silently through their halls, and the house worried that perhaps it had gone too far. She stopped outside the ball room, which had been shut up for decades. Carefully, she opened the door and peered in.

“Lumos,” she whispered. The wall sconces and the chandeliers obligingly lit themselves.

Dust and cobwebs clung to most surfaces, but the dancefloor was still in good order. She crept into the room until she was standing in front of an ornate gilt mirror. Reflected back at her was a tired-looking woman with her hair pulled back into a sensible bun. The ancient jumper she was wearing remained, as did her worn sweatpants.

“Very well,” she murmured to herself.

The house watched as she raised her wand and began to cast cleaning spell after cleaning spell. Pleasure hummed through the floor and walls as she set conjured rags to polishing every surface.

 _Ours_ , the house hummed in satisfaction.

Night after night, the house sent her dreams of its former glory using the memories and emotions of past inhabitants. People who had lived and loved within their walls.

Within weeks, she had stripped off the hideous wallpaper _that one_ had put up, and had ripped out the garish carpeting. Months later, and the house looked as it hadn’t for over a hundred years. All thanks to _her_ , their Chosen One. She had poured herself into the house, and the house had returned the favor in her dreams.

When Samhain Eve arrived, she came down the stairs wearing a set of robes that she’d found in the attic. Such a deep red would not have been appropriate in the house’s youth, but it was acceptable nowadays. She’d left her hair down, but she was wearing the Black family tiara that the house had helped her find. Around her neck was another Black heirloom—a string of black pearls that went perfectly with the red of her robes. The house sighed happily.

As she approached the ballroom, the house eagerly opened its doors. Memories of music seeped out of its walls filling the air. Two silvery spectres shimmered into being as she entered the room.

“My lady,” the Sirius spectre said with a smile. “Care to dance?”

A small smile curved Hermione’s lips and she placed her hand in his.

“Don’t forget to save me a dance, my lady,” Remus called to her as Sirius swung her out onto the the gleaming dance floor.

“Of course,” Hermione replied with a trilling laugh.

The ballroom doors closed tightly, and the house hummed with satisfaction. If one had been standing in the hallway, music might have drifted out and the faint chatter of guests.

 _Ours_.


	10. The Countdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I know this can be a traumatic subject—so this chapter deals with infertility, pregnancy complications, etc. 
> 
> Week #10’s prompt: A story that features a countdown.

_Ten._

 

“Remus? Sirius? Are you home?” Hermione called out as the front door shut with a bang.

Before he even realized what he was doing, Remus stood up and had made it across the room to the door. Stress was bleeding through Hermione’s voice in a way that made the hair stand up on the back of his neck and his gut clench in fear. He hurried down the stairs to find her standing in the entry way with a lost expression on her face.

“Hermione?” Remus reached out to touch her cheek tentatively.

With a muffled sob, the witch flung herself into his arms and clung to him. His arms came about her and he rubbed her back in soothing circles. Hermione clung to him even tighter and buried her face in his chest. The door to the basement opened, and Sirius hurried out wiping his grease-stained hands on a greasy rag that wasn’t helping matters.

“What’s happened?” Sirius asked with a worried frown.

Remus raised his eyebrows and lifted one hand from Hermione’s back to wave it about to show that he hadn’t a clue.

“Hermione?” Remus asked again, trying to pull back from her slightly. She allowed him separate them and hiccupped quietly. “What is it?”

“Remember…,” Hermione laughed bitterly and shook her head, pressing the heels of her palms to her eyes. “Remember how I said that I couldn’t… that they told me that I would never…”

“That spell damage had caused some problems,” Sirius growled. His fingers tightened on the greasy rag as though he were throttling people that weren’t there.

“Today was your annual,” Remus realized aloud. “Did they find additional damage or something?” Nebulous horrors floated through his imagination growing large on his sudden fear. “Are you ill? Can they fix it, whatever it is?”

“I’m pregnant,” Hermione whispered, looking up at Remus with wide eyes that begged for forgiveness.

“Pregnant?” Remus repeated.

A loud thud caused them both to jump in surprise and turn toward Sirius who had fainted in the front hall. Remus stared at him for a minute and then huffed in irritation.

“Every bloody time,” he muttered.

“I beg your pardon?” Hermione frowned at him. Remus sighed and waved a hand at Sirius’ supine form.

“He did the same damn thing when James and Lily told us about Harry,” he explained.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” Hermione snapped. She pointed her wand at Sirius. “ _Aguamenti_!”

 

 

_Nine_

 

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” Harry asked cautiously.

Incredulously, Hermione just stared at him for a moment before turning pointedly to watch his three children run screaming across the lawn after their mum. Luna waved at the two of them and then laughed at their youngest, Lily Cliodna, who was clinging to the skirts of her robes.

“It isn’t that I don’t think you’re old enough,” Harry protested. “I mean, _obviously_ you’re old enough. I mean, most everyone we went to Hogwarts with has already had children. I mean… oh bloody hell.”

“No please,” Hermione said sweetly with a razor-sharp smile. “Do go on.”

“They weren’t there when you first found out,” Harry reminded her in a quiet voice. “I was the one that held you while you sobbed like your heart had been broken.”

“I don’t know if I’d go that far,” Hermione protested.

“I would,” Harry countered. He covered her hand with his and squeezed it. “I love you, you silly cow. I just… I worry that… what if something happens?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione whispered. One hand dropped to her stomach protectively, her fingers flexing on air.

“Nothing will happen that shouldn’t,” Luna announced as she drew near to them, a trail of children out behind her. She smiled at Hermione. “She’ll be a lovely little witch.”

“She?” Hermione echoed.

“Hmm.” Luna turned to her children. “Who wants tea?”

 

_Eight_

“Are you sure you should be lifting that?” Sirius fretted.

Hermione turned to stare at him. “It’s a book, Sirius.”

“It’s a ruddy big one,” he protested. “Maybe I should carry it for you.”

“Maybe you should sleep in the parlour,” Hermione countered tartly.

Sirius held up his hands in a gesture of defeat. “I’m trying here, Hermione, but this is all new to me.”

“It’s new to me as well,” she huffed at him. “You and Remus are both coming with me to the next check-up. The Healers can tell you that you’re both being utterly impossible.”

 

_Seven_

“Pregnant?” Ron sat back in his chair and stared at her. “Blimey.”

“Do you have to say it like that?” Hermione demanded.

“Like what?” Ron asked with a frown.

“Like it’s so very shocking,” Hermione snapped. “It happens on a fairly regular basis, I’ll have you know.”

“Well, sure, but not to you,” Ron pointed out. Across the table, Draco winced visibly and sighed.

“We are, of course, very happy for you,” Draco said with a mild glare at his husband. He turned back to Hermione with a cool smile. “How is dear cousin Sirius taking the news?”

“He is being impossible,” Hermione muttered with a roll of her eyes.

“Mother has asked me to extend an offer of assistance,” Draco continued in a careful voice. He looked at the table in front of him for a moment before looking up at Hermione. “She wasn’t certain how Sirius would take any contact from her.”

“An offer of assistance?” Hermione repeated slowly. She watched Draco through narrowed eyes. “Is that some kind of pureblood thing?”

“Not exactly,” Draco replied.

“Cor, Mum is going to go mental,” Ron groaned. “She’s going to want to knit little whatsit a million little baby booties.”

“That’s very kind of her,” Hermione murmured. “But she doesn’t have to—”

Ron was already shaking his head. “Too late. A million baby booties, Hermione.”

Hermione threw her napkin at Ron. “You’re a horrible friend.”

“I know better than to stand between my Mum and a new baby,” Ron retorted.

 

 

_Six_

 

 

Tea had been Hermione’s idea. Not at Malfoy Manor, of course. No, she and Narcissa had settled on some café in the middle of Diagon Alley that could be considered neutral territory. Hermione had dragged Luna along with her, and Narcissa had shown up with her sister, Andromeda, in tow. The four witches sat around the table in stilted silence.

“That’s a… striking shade of purple, Luna,” Andromeda commented with a faint air of desperation.

“It’s Loftsday,” Luna replied with a smile.

“Of course,” Andromeda murmured. She shot a glance at her sister. “Narcissa?”

“I know that things are strained between Sirius and I,” Narcissa said quietly. She shifted in her seat and glanced about the café before turning back to Hermione. “But your child will be the next generation of the Black family, the continuation of the line.”

“Even if it’s technically Remus’ child?” Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow.

Narcissa’s eyebrow rose and her chin rose imperiously. “Your marriage makes both Sirius  and Remus the child’s father no matter who the biological father is.”

“It’s a girl,” Hermione added coolly.

Both Narcissa and Andromeda blinked in surprise.

“It’s early,” Andromeda said in a cautious voice.

“Hermione’s aura has shifted,” Luna explained. She took a sip of her tea and nibbled on a biscuit.

“Sirius says that if Luna is right, he’ll make certain that she’ll inherit,” Hermione said calmly. She smiled at her friend. “I’ve known Luna for too many years to doubt her.”

“A girl,” Narcissa murmured with a small smile.

 

 

_Five_

A quick trip to the loo in the middle of the night was becoming more and more familiar. Hermione sat on the loo and yawned sleepily. It was only a glance down, but she froze. _Blood_. Freshly red spots stained her knickers. Her heart ached in her chest and she felt as though she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. A ragged sob escaped her throat.

“Hermione?” Remus stumbled into the en suite rubbing at his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She held her knickers out to him mutely.

“Fuck,” Remus muttered. He turned back to the bedroom. “PADS! Get your arse up!” He turned back to Hermione. “It will be okay. We’ll take you to St. Mungo’s and they’ll figure it out. It will be okay, Hermione.”

 

 

_Four_

Another loud sigh and Hermione shifted in her bed at St. Mungo’s. Sirius watched her flip through a magazine. The night they had rushed her to the Accident and Emergency ward had been one of the most terrifying nights of his entire life.

Their girl had been so scared. Her fingers had dug into his hand, her nails breaking the skin, and he hadn’t said a fucking word. All he could do was stare at the tight lines of her mouth and the fear in her eyes and pray to every god that the Healers could fix whatever it was that had made her bleed.

The Healers had ordered bed rest at St. Mungo’s for the remainder of her pregnancy. Officious little interns would troop in every hour or so to run diagnostics spells to check Hermione’s vitals.

“Sirius?” The frustration on his wife’s face made it clear that she had called his name several times. “Where are you?”

“Thinking,” he muttered. He moved over to her bed and sat down in the chair next to it. He took her hand and raised it to his lips. “I love you.”

A soft smile curved Hermione’s lips. “I know you do, you mangy cur.”

“We’ll keep you both safe, Hermione,” he whispered. “I promise.”

“Oh Sirius,” Hermione sighed. She tugged on a lock of his hair. “I know you will.”

 

 

_Three_

 

“Well there’s no way to be certain,” Molly protested. Multi-coloured skeins of yarn overflowed from the basket at her feet; her needles click-clacked away as she continued to work on a pale yellow baby blanket.

“Luna seems fairly sure,” Hermione said with a calm serenity that Ginny envied.

“Being cooped up at St. Mungo’s must be driving you bonkers,” Ginny observed with a grimace.

“It’s dead boring,” Hermione agreed with a sigh. Her hand fell to her swollen stomach. “But… worth it.”

“Of course it is, dear,” Molly said with a nod.

“It helps that Sirius and Remus wait on her hand and foot,” Luna offered from her seat by Ginny.  

“That sounds like fun,” Ginny said with a grin.

“Sirius is always willing to sneak her in whatever she has a craving for, but Remus is always worried that it might not be safe,” Luna continued. A small smile drifted over her face. “They’re both very sweet.”

“They worry,” Hermione admitted in the quiet space of her room.

Molly nodded as she continued to knit. “They’re good boys.”

Hermione blinked and exchanged a look with Ginny and Luna. The thought that convicted criminal Sirius Black, and infamous werewolf Remus Lupin were _good boys_ was laughable. As if to prove her point, Ginny snickered behind her hand.

“They’ve been really good about everything,” Hermione murmured.

 

 

_Two_

The swollen girth of Hermione’s stomach was intimidating. Remus found himself staring at it, entranced, on a regular basis. Their baby was in there. A little girl if you listened to Hermione or Luna. He pressed one gentle hand to her taut skin. The familiar feel of an exuberant kick pushed against his hand. He grinned at Hermione over her belly.

“Strong kicker,” he murmured.

“She’s feisty,” Hermione agreed with a serenity that soothed something in his soul.

There had been a time where he didn’t ever expect to have any of this. In those dark days after James and Lily had been killed and he had thought that Sirius… back then, he’d assumed that he would die alone. He had never thought that he’d ever have Sirius back again. Or that together they would convince Hermione to give them a chance. Or that—despite everything against all three of them—Hermione would be pregnant with their child. _Theirs_. Both Sirius and Remus had requested not to see anything to do with paternity. This baby would belong to all three of them.

Underneath, Remus’ hand, the taut skin of Hermione’s belly rippled. She tensed, and he turned to look at her.

“What is it?” He asked worriedly.

“Call the Healers,” Hermione whispered. Her hands spread over her belly. “It’s time.”

 

 

_One_

 

 

Ten little fingers that were so slender and fragile-looking that Sirius was afraid to stroke them with his own. Ten tiny toes that curled as the baby stretched in her mother’s arms. One clenched fist waved wildly in the air as she suckled greedily, making slurping noises that filled the air. Tears slipped down Hermione’s cheeks as she watched her daughter eat.

“No tears love,” Sirius whispered. He rubbed her knee with gentle fingers.

“Happy tears,” she countered thickly. With one crooked finger, she rubbed the baby’s cheek. “She’s perfect.”

“Of course she is,” Sirius said with an arrogant toss of his hair. “She’s ours.”

“She is,” Hermione agreed in a soft voice.


End file.
